Anne Hereford : a novel

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ANNE HEREFORD,

VOL. I.

ANNE HEREFORD.

$ Intel.

BY

Mrs. HENRY WOOD,

AUTHOE OF

"EAST LYNNE," "THE EED COUET FAEM,"

ETC. ETC.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.

LONDON :

mSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND.
1868.

[All rigHi of Tramlation and Reproduction are resercedj]

V16

V.I

OS

CONTENTS

OF

THE FIRST VOLUME.

CHAP.

PAGB

I. MRS. EDWIN BARLEY

II. IN THE WOOD 25

III. GOING OUT IN THE FOG 62

IV. VERY ILL 87

V. ANOTHER DREAM 119

VI. DEAD ! 145

VII. AT MISS fenton's 176

VIII. EMILY CHANDOS 214

IX. A STEP IRREVOCABLE 239

X. AT MRS. paler's 256

Digitized by the Internet Archive

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ANNE HEREFORD.

CHAPTER I.

MRS. EDWIN BARLEY.

An express train was dashing along a line of
rails in the heart of England. On one of the
first-class carriages there had been a board, bear-
ing the intimation " For Ladies Only/' but the
guard took it off when the train first started. It
had come many miles since. Seated inside, the
only passenger in that compartment, was a little
girl in deep mourning. All was black about her
save the white frills of her drawers, which peeped
below her short, black, flounced frock. A thought-
ful, gentle child, with a smooth, pale forehead,
earnest eyes, and long, dark eyelashes that swept
her cheek. It was a gloomy September day,
foggy, and threatening rain — a sc^-looking day ;
vol. i. 1

2 ANNE HEREFORD.

and the child's face seemed to have borrowed the
aspect of the weather, pervaded, as it was, by a
tinge of sadness. That little girl was myself,
Anne Hereford.

The train slackened speed, and glided into an
important station, larger than any we had passed.
It was striking one, and the guard came up to
the carriage. " Now, my little lady," said he,
u change lines here, and stop for ten minutes.'"

I liked that guard. He had a kind, hearty
face, and he had come up several times to the
carriage- door during the journey, asking how I
got on. He told me he had a little girl of his
own, about as old as I.

" Are you hungry ?" he asked, as he lifted me
from the carriage.

"Not very, thank you. I have eaten the
biscuits."

"Halloa! Stern!" he called out, stopping a
man who was hurrying past. " Are you going
with the Nettleby train f"

" Yes. What if I am ?" was the man's an-
swer. He was rightly named Stern, for he had
a stern, sour face.

ANNE HEREFORD. d

" See this little girl. She is in the guard's
charge. To be put in the ladies' carriage, and
taken on to Nettleby."

The man gave a short nod by way of answer,
and hurried away. And the guard took me into
a large room, where crowds were pressing round
a counter. " Here, Miss Williams/' he said, to
one of the young women behind it, " give this
little lady something to eat and drink, and take
care of her till the Nettleby train starts. She's
to have what comes to a shilling."

" What will you take, my dear ?" asked Miss
Williams.

The counter was so full of good things that I
■did not know what, but fixed at length upon a
plum-tart. Miss Williams laughed, and said I
had better eat some sandwiches first and the tart
afterwards.

She was pouring me out a cup of coffee when
the guard came up again. " Your baggage is
changed, little lady," said he. " You'll find it
all right at -the Nettleby station. Good day."

" Good-bye, and thank you," I answered, hold-
ing out my hand, that he might shake it. I felt

1— 2,

4 ANNE HEREFORD.

sorry to part with him — lie seemed like a friend.
Soon after, the surly guard put in his head and
beckoned to me. He marshalled me to a car-
riage which had a similar board upon it to the
other, "For Ladies Only/' and shut me in with-
out a word. Two ladies sat opposite to me. They
did not speak either; but they stared a great
deal. I thought it must be at the two tarts Miss
Williams had given me in a paper bag, and did
not like to eat them.

At the next station another lady got in, and
she began talking at once.

" Are you travelling all alone, little girl?"

" Yes, ma'am. The guard takes care of me."

" Have you come far V

I had come from a remote part of Devonshire,
the sea-coast. It seemed a long way to me, and
I said so.

" Will you tell me your name ? I daresay it
is a pretty one."

" It is Anne Hereford."

" Devonshire is a very nice part of the country.
Have you lived in it all your life ?"

" Not quite. I was born in India. Mamma

ANNE HEREFORD. &

brought me to England when I was three years

old."

u You are in deep mourning. Is it for a near

relative ?"

I did not answer. I turned to look out at the
window until the tears should go away again. I
could not bear that strangers should see them.
The lady asked again, and presently I turned
round.

" For mamma."

She was silent for some time, looking at me.
" Is your papa dead also V

" He died a long while before mamma did/'

" You say you were born in India : perhaps
he was an officer ?'

" He was Colonel Hereford."

" How many brothers and sisters have you ?"

" Not any."

" AYhere are you going to live ?"

" I don't know. I am going now to my Aunt
Selina's."

The train approached a station, and the lady
got out, or she probably would have asked me a
great deal more. At the station following that,

()- ANNE HEREFORD.

the two silent ladies left, and I was alone again.
The first thing I did was to eat my tarts and
throw away the paper bag. After that I fell
asleep, and remembered no more till the guard's
surly voice woke me.

" This is Nettleby, if you are a-going to get
out. He said something about some luggage.
How much is it ?"

" A large box and a small one, and two carpet-
bags. ' Miss Hereford, passenger to Nettleby,'
is written on them. Can you please to tell me
whether it is far to Mr. Edwin Barley's ?"

" I don't know any Mr. Edwin Barley. Jem,"
added he, to one of the porters, " see after her.
I'm going to hand out her things."

u Where do you want to go, miss ?" the porter
asked.

"To Mr. Edwin Barley's. They told me I
must get out at the Nettleby station, and ask to
be sent on, unless a carriage met me here."

" You must mean Mr. Edwin Barley of
Hallam."

« Yes, that's it. Is it far ?"

" Well, Hallam's five miles off, and the house

ANXE HEREFORD. V

is a mile on this side of it. There's no rail, miss ;
you must go by the omnibus/'

{( But are you sure that Mrs. Edwin Barley
has not come to meet me ?" I asked, feeling a
sort of chill.

Not any one had come, and the porter put me
into the omnibus with some more passengers.
What a long drive it seemed ! And the hedges
and trees looked very dreary, for the shades of
evening were gathering.

At the foot of a hill the omnibus pulled up,
and a man who had sat by the driver came round.
"Ain't there somebody inside for Mr. Edwin
Barley's ?"

" Yes ; I am."

I got out, and the luggage was put upon the
ground. "Two shillings, miss," said the man.

" Two shillings !" I repeated, in great alarm.

" Why, did you expect to come for one — and
inside too ! It's uncommon cheap, is this
omnibus."

" Oh, it is not that. But I have not any
money."

" Not got any money !"

8 ANNE HEREFORD.

" They did not give me any. They gave the
guard my fare to Nettleby. Mr. Sterling said I
should be sure to be met."

The man went up to the driver " I say, Bill,
this child says she's got no money/''

The driver turned round and looked at me.
" We can call to-morrow for it ; I daresay it's all
right. Do you belong to the Barleys, miss ?"

" Mrs. Edwin Barley is my aunt. I am come
on a visit to her."

" Oh, it's all right. Get up, Joe."

" But please," said I, stopping the man, in an
agony of fear — for I could see no house or sign
of one, save a small, round, low building that
might contain one room — " which is Mr. Edwin
Barley's? Am I to stay in the road with the
boxes ?"

The man laughed, said he had supposed I knew,
and began shouting out, " Here, missis !" two or
three times. " You see that big green gate,
miss ?" he added to me. " Well, that leads up
to Mr. Barley's, and that's his lodge."

A woman came out of the lodge, in answer to
the shouts, and opened the gate. The man ex-

ANNE HEREFORD. 9

plained, put the trunks inside the gate, and the
omnibus drove on.

M I beg pardon that I can't go up to the house
with you, miss, but it's not far, and you can't
miss it," said she. " I have got my baby sick in
its cradle, and dare not leave it alone. You are
little Miss Hereford V

" Yes."

" It's odd they never sent to meet you at
Xettleby, if they knew you were coming ! But
they have visitors at the house, and perhaps young
madam forgot it. Straight on, miss, and you'll
soon come to the hall door ; go up the steps, and
give a good pull at the bell."

There was no help for it : I had to go up the
gloomy avenue alone. It was a broad gravel
drive, wide enough for two carriages to pass each
other ; a thick grove of trees on either side. The
road wound round, and I had just got in sight of
the house when I was startled considerably by
what proved to be a man's head projecting be-
yond the trees. He appeared to be gazing stead-
fastly at the house, but turned his face suddenly
at my approach. But for that, I might not have

10 ANNE HEREFORD.

observed him. The face looked dark, ugly, me-
nacing ; and I started with a spring to the other
side of the way.

I did not speak to him, or lie to me, but my
heart beat with fear, and I was glad enough to
see lights from several of the windows in front of
me. I thought it a very large house ; I found
afterwards that it contained eighteen rooms, and
some of them small,: but then we had lived in a
pretty cottage of six. There was no need to
ring. At the open door stood a man and a
maid-servant, laughing and talking.

" Who are you V cried the girl.

" I want Mrs. Edwin Barley/'

" Then I think want must be your master/'
she returned. " It is somebody from Hallam, I
suppose. Mrs. Edwin Barley cannot possibly see
you to-night."

" You just go away, little girl/' added the foot-
man. " You must come to-morrow morning, if
you want anything."

Their manner was so authoritative that I felt
frightened, nearly crying as I stood. What if
they should really turn me away !

ANNE HEREFORD. 11

" Why don't you go ?" asked the girl, sharply.

" I have nowhere to go to. My boxes are
down at the gate/''

u Why, who are you ?" she inquired, in a quick
tone.

" I am Miss Hereford/'

" Heart alive \" she whispered to the man. " I
beg your pardon, miss. I'll call Charlotte
Delves/'

" What's that ? Who will you call V broke
from an angry voice at the back of the hall.
" Call ' Charlotte Delves/ will you ? Go in to
your work this instant, you insolent girl. Do
you hear me, Jemima ?"

<e I didn't know you were there, Miss Delves,"
was the half-saucy, half-deprecating answer.
" The young lady has come — Miss Hereford."

A tall, slight, good-looking woman of thirty-
five or thirty-six came forward. I could not tell
whether she was a lady or a smart maid. She
wore a small, stylish cap, and a handsome muslin
gown with flounces — which were in fashion then.
Her eyes were light; long, light curls fell on
either side her face, and her address was good.

12 ANNE HEREFORD.

*' How do you do, Miss Hereford ?" she said,
taking my Land. " Come in, my dear. We did
not expect you until next week. Mrs. Barley is
in the drawing-room."

tc Mrs. Barley is in her chamber, dressing for
dinner," contended Jemima, from the back of the
hall, as if intent on aggravation.

Miss Delves made no reply. She ran upstairs,
and opened a door, from whence came a warm
glow of fire-light. ' ' Wait there a moment," she
said, looking round at me. " Mrs. Edwin Barley,
the child has come."

"What child?" returned a voice — a young,
gay, sweet voice.

" Little Miss Hereford."

« My goodness ! Come to-day ! And I with
no mourning about me, to speak of. Well, let
her come in."

I knew my Aunt Selina again in a moment.
She had stayed with us in Devonshire for three
months two years before, when she was nineteen.
The same lovely face, with its laughing blue eyes,
and its shining golden hair. She wore an em-
broidered clear-muslin white dress, with low body

ANNE HEREFORD. 13

and sleeves, and a few black ribbons; jet bracelets,
and a long jet chain.

" You darling child ! But what made you
come in this strange way, without notice ?"

" Mr. Sterling said he wrote word to you,
Selina, that I should be here on Thursday. You
ought to have had the letter yesterday/''

" "Well, so he did write ; but I thought — how
stupid I must have been \" she interrupted, with
a sudden laugh. " I declare I took it to mean
next Thursday. But you are all the more
welcome, dear. You have grown prettier, Anne,
with those deep eyes of yours/'

I stood before her very gravely. I had dreaded
the meeting, believing it would be one of sobs
and lamentation for my mother : not taking into
account how careless and light-headed Selina
was. I had called her a Selina," since, a little
girl of four, I had gone on a visit to Keppe-
Carew.

Taking off my bonnet, she kissed me several
times, and then held me before her by my hands
as she sat on the sofa. Miss Delves went out
and closed the door.

14 ANNE HEREFORD.

" They are not home from shooting yet, Anne,
so we can have a little talk to ourselves. When
they go to the far covers, there's no knowing
when they'll be in : two nights ago they kept me
waiting dinner until eight o'clock/''

" Who did, Aunt Selina ?"

" Mr. Barley, and the rest," she answered,
carelessly. ct Anne, how very strange it was
that your mamma should have died so quickly at
the last ! It was only two weeks before her
death that she wrote to tell me she was ill."

" She had been ill longer than that, Aunt
Selina "

" Call me Selina, child."

" But she did not tell any one until she knew
there was danger. She did not tell me."

" It was a renewal of that old complaint she
had in India — that inward complaint."

I turned my head and my wet eyes from her.
" They told me it was her heart, Selina."

" Yes ; in a measure ; that had something to
do with it. It must have been a sad parting,
Anne. Why, child, you are sobbing !"

" Please don't talk of it !"

ANNE HEREFORD. 15

" But I must talk of it : I like to have my
curiosity gratified/' she said, in her quick way.
"Did the doctors say from the first that there
was no hope?"

" Mamma knew there was no hope when she
wrote to you. She had told me so the day
before."

" I wonder she told you at all."

" Oh, Selina ! that fortnight was too short for
the leave-taking; for all she had to say to
me. It will be years, perhaps, before we meet
again."

" Meet again ! Meet where ?"

" In Heaven !"

" You are a strange child !" exclaimed Selina,
looking at me very steadfastly. iC Ursula has
infected you, I see, with her serious notions. I
used to tell her there was time enough for it
years hence."

" And mamma used to tell you that perhaps,
if you put off and put off, the years hence might
never come for you, Selina."

" What ! you remember that, do you ?" she
said, with a smile. " Yes, she used to lecture

16 ANNE HEREFORD.

me ; she was fifteen years older than I, and
assumed the right to do so."

" Mamma never lectured ; what she said was
always kind and gentle/' was my sohbing
answer.

" Yes, yes. You think me insensible now,
Anne ; but my grief is over — that is, the violence
of the grief. When the letter came to say
Ursula was dead, I cried the whole day, never
ceasing."

" Mamma had a warning of her death/'' I con-
tinued; for it was one of the things she had
charged me to tell to her sister Selina.

" Had a what, child V3

" A warning. The night before she was taken
ill — I mean dangerously ill — she dreamt she saw
papa in a most beautiful place, all light and
flowers ; no place on earth could ever have been
so beautiful except the Garden of Eden. He
beckoned her to come to him, and pointed to a
vacant place by his side, saying, ' It is ready for
you now, Ursula/ Mamma awoke then, and the
words were sounding in her cars ; she could
have felt sure that they were positively spoken."

ANNE HEREFORD. 17

" And you can tell me this with a grave face,
calling it a warning V* exclaimed Selina.

" Mamma charged me to tell it you. She
related the dream to us the next morning ,J

" Us ! Whom do you mean, child ?"

" Me and our old maid Betty. She was my
nurse, you know. Mamma said what a pleasant
dream it was, that she was sorry to awake from
it ; but after she grew ill, she said she knew it
was sent as a warning.''

Selina laughed. " You have lived boxed up
with that stupid old Betty and your mamma,
child, until you are like a grave little woman.
Ursula was always superstitious. You will say
you believe in ghosts next/'

" No, I do not believe in ghosts. I do in
warnings. Mamma said that never a Keppe-
Carew died yet without being warned of it :
though few of them had noticed it at the time."

" There, that will do, Anne. I am a Carew,
and I don't want to be frightened into watching
for a ' warning.' You are a Carew also, by the
mother's side. Do you know, my poor child,
that you are not left well off?"

vol. i. 2

18 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Yes ; mamma lias told me all. I don't
mind."

" Don't mind !" echoed Selina, with another
light laugh. " That's because you don't under-
stand^ Anne. What little your mamma had
left has been sunk in an annuity for your educa-
tion— eighty or a hundred pounds a year, until
you are eighteen. There's something more, I
believe, for clothes and incidental expenses."

" I said I did not mind, Selina, because I am
not afraid of getting my own living. Mamma
said that a young lady, well-educated and of
good birth, can always command a desirable
position as governess. She told me not to fear,
for God would take care of me."

u Some money might be desirable for all that,"
returned my aunt, in a tone that sounded full of
irreverence to my unaccustomed ears. "The
maddest step Colonel Hereford ever took was
that of selling out. He thought to better him-
self, and he spent and lost the money, leaving
your mamma with very little when he died."

" I don't think mamma cared much for money,
Selina."

ANNE HEREFORD. 19

H I don't think she did, or she would not have
taken matters so quietly. Do you remember,
Anne, how she used to go on at me when I said
I should marry Edwin Barley ?"

" Yes ; mamma said how very wrong it would
be of you to marry for money/''

" Quite true. She used to put her hands to
her ears when I said I hated him. Now, what
are those earnest eyes of yours searching me
for ?"

" Do you hate him, Selina V

" I am not dying of love for him, you strange
child."

" One day a poor boy had a monkey before
the window, and you said Mr. Edwin Earley was
as ugly as that. Is he ugly?"

Selina burst into a peal of ringing laughter.
" Oh, he is very handsome, Anne ; as hand-
some as the day : when you see him you shall

tell me if you don't think so. I . "What is

the matter ? What arc you looking at ?'3

As I stood before my aunt, the door behind
her seemed to be pushed gently open. I had
thought some one was coming in ; and said so.

2—2

20 ANNE HEREFORD.

" The fire-light must have deceived you, Anne.
That door is kept hoi ted ; it leads to a passage
communicating with my bedroom, but we do not
use it."

" I am certain that I saw it open/' was my
answer ; and an unpleasant, fanciful thought
came over me that it might be the man I saw
in the avenue. " It is shut now ; it shut again
when I spoke."

She rose, walked to the door, and tried to
open it, but it was fast.

" You see, Anne. Don't you get fanciful, my
dear ; that is what your mamma was :" but I
shook my head in answer.

" Selina, did not Mr. Edwin Barley want
me to go to Mrs. Hemson's instead of coming
here?"

" Who told you that ?"

" I heard Mr. Sterling talking of it with
mamma."

" Mr. Edwin Barley did, little woman. Did
you hear why he wished it ?"

" No."

" You should have heard that, it was so natter-

ANNE HEREFORD. 21

ing to me. He thought I was too giddy to take
charge of a young lady."

" Did he r

" But Ursula "would not accept the objection.
It could not matter for a few weeks, she wrote to
Mr. Edwin Barley, whether I were giddy or
serious, and she could not think of consigning
you, even temporarily, to Mrs. Hemson. Ah !
my cousin Frances Carew and I took exactly
opposite courses, Anne : I married for money, she
for love. She met an attractive stranger at a
watering-place, and married him."

u And it was not right ?"

" It was all wrong. He was a tradesman. A
good-looking, educated man; I grant that; but
a tradesman. Never was such a thing heard of,
as for a Carew to stoop to that. You see, Anne,
she had learnt to like him before she knew any-
thing of his position, or who he was. He was a
visitor at the place, just as she was. Of course
she ought to have given him up. Not she; she
gave herself and her money to him, and a very
pretty little fortune she had."

" Did she marrv in disobedience ?"

22 ANNE HEREFORD.

" That cannot be charged upon her, for she
was alone in the world, and her own mistress.
But a Carew of Keppe-Carew ought to have
known better."

" She was not of Keppe-Carew, Selina."

u She was. Don't you know that, Anne ?
Her father was Carew of Keppe-Carew ; and.
wnen he died without a son, his brother, your
mamma''s father and mine, succeeded to Keppe-
Carew. He died in his turn, leaving no son,
and Keppe-Carew and its broad lands went to a
distant man, the male heir. We three Carews
have all married badly, in one way or another."

Mrs. Edwin Barley was speaking dreamily
then, as if forgetting anybody heard her.

" She, Frances, married Hemson the trades-
man, throwing a barrier between herself and her
family; Ursula married Colonel Hereford, to
wear out a few of her best years in India, and.
then to die in poverty, and leave an unprovided -
for child; and I have married him, Edwin
Barley. Which is the worst, I wonder ?"

I thought over what she said in my busy
brain. Few children had so active a one.

ANNE HEREFORD. 23

" Selina, you say you married Mr. Edwin
Barley because he is rich,"

"Well."

" "Why did you, when you were rich yourself?"

" I rich ? You will count riches differently
when you are older. Why, Anne, do you know
what my fortune was ? Four thousand pounds.
Ursula had the same, and she and Colonel
Hereford spent it. That put a notion in my
father's head, and he tied mine up tight enough,
securing it to my absolute use until I die."

" Will it be Mr. Barley's when you die,
Selina ?"

" Were I to die before next Monday, it would
be yours, pussy, for it is so settled. After that,
if I die without a will, it would go to Mr. Edwin
Barley ; but I shall be of age next Monday, and
then can make one. I think it must be my first
care — a will •" she laughed. " So munificent a
sum to dispose of ! Shall I leave it to you V*

The room-door was pushed open, and some
one entered. A shortish man, of nearly forty
years, in a velveteen shooting-coat and gaiters,
and with a dark face : the same dark face that

24 ANNE HEREFORD.

looked out from the trees in the avenue. I
shrank round Selina with a sudden fear. Not
that the features were particularly ill-favoured in
themselves,, but so dark and stern. And the re-
membrance of the fright was on me still.

" "Where are you coming to, child ?" she said.
" This is Mr. Edwin Barley."

CHAPTER II.

IN THE WOOD.

That Mr. Edwin Barley ! My imagination had
been setting the face down for a robber's at
least ; and the thought flashed over me — How
could Selina have married him ? Another thought
came with it — Had he been the intruder at the
door?

" Who is that, Selina V he asked, in a very
strong, determined voice, but not an unpleasiug
one.

" Anne Hereford. Eancy my making so
stupid a mistake as to conclude it was next
Thursday the lawyer meant. And she has had
to find her way from Nettleby in the best way
she could."

He looked at me with his black eyes, the
blackest eyes I had ever seen. Either they wore
a warning expression, or I fancied so, and I took

26 ANNE HEREFORD.

it to mean I was not to say I saw him watching
the house from the avenue. No fear, after that,
that I should speak of it.

" Did you walk from Nettleby, little one ?"

" No, sir. I came in the omnibus to the
gate/'

" She has been asking me if you were very
handsome ; and I told her to wait and see/' ob-
served Selina with a laugh, and somehow it
grated on my ears. He made no reply in words,
but his brow contracted a little. I noticed one
thing — that he had very pretty teeth, white and
even.

" How is it you are home before the
others V she resumed. " And where are they
lingering ? Charlotte Delves says the dinner is
spoiling/''

" They cannot be far behind," was Mr. Edwin
Barley's answer. " Til go and dress."

As he went out of the room we heard sounds
of voices and laughter. Selina opened the
window, and I stood by her. The night had
grown clearer, the moon was bright. Three
gentlemen, dressed something like Mr. Edwin

ANNE HEREFORD. 27

Barley, were approaching the house with game,

guns, and dogs.

" Can yon see them by this light, Anne ?"
" I can see that two are young, and one looks

old. He has gray hair/'

" Not very old, not more than fifty — bnt he is

so stout. It is the parson, Mr. Martin."
" Do parsons go out shooting, Selina ?"
" Only when they can get the chance," she

laughed. " That young one is Philip King, a ward

of Mr. Edwin Barley's. He and I are not friends

at all, and I do what I can to vex him. He is

terribly ill-tempered."

« is he r

" He fell in love with me at Easter, the silly
boy ! Fancy that ! One can't think it was in
earnest, you know, but it really seemed like it.
I asked him if he would like his ears boxed, and
Mr. Edwin Barley gave us both a sharp talking-
to, saying we ought to be sent to school again."
" Both ! But if it was not your fault ?"
" Mr. Edwin Barley said it was my fault," she
returned, with a laugh. " Perhaps it was. He
has not, as I believe, loved Philip King since."

28 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Who is the other one with them, Selina ?" I
asked, as the gentlemen below disappeared.

" The other is George Heneage — a great friend
of mine. Hnsh ! he is coming up."

George Heneage entered. A young man,
tall, slender, active; with a pale, pleasant face,
and dark wavy hair. He had a merry smile,
and I thought I had never seen any one so nice-
looking. Mrs. Edwin Barley moved to the fire,
and he took her hand in greeting.

" Well ! And how have you been all day ?
Dull?"

It was the pleasantest voice ! Quite a con-
trast after that of Mr. Edwin Barley.

" Much any of you care whether I am dull or
gay," she returned in answer, half laughing, half
pouting. " The partridges get all your time, just
now. I might be dead and buried before any of
you came home to see after me."

<fWe must shoot, you know, Selina. One of
us, at any rate, came home a couple of hours
ago — Barlev."

" Not to me. He has but just come in. You
must be mistaken."

ANNE HEREFORD. 29

" Look here. I was away for a short while
from the party, seeing after the horse I lamed
the other day, and when I got back. Barley had
vanished : they thought he had gone to look
after me. Perhaps he had in one sense, the
great simpleton — Hallo ! who's that ¥' He
broke off, seeing me for the first time, as I stood
partly within the shade of the window-curtain.

" It is little Anne Hereford. She has come
a week before I expected her. Anne, come for-
ward, and let Mr. Heneage make love to you. It
is a pastime he favours."

He lifted me up by the waist, looked at me,
and put me down again.

" A pretty little face to make love to. How
old are you ?"

« Eleven, sir."

" Eleven \" he echoed, in surprise. " I should
have taken you for nine at the very most.
Eleven \"

" And eleventeen in sober sense/'' interposed
Selina, in her lightest and most careless maimer.
u I suppose children are so who never live with
brothers and sisters. You should hear her talk,

30 ANNE HEREFORD.

George ! I tell her, her mamma and nurse have
made an old woman of her,"

" Dare I venture to your presence in this
trim, Mrs. Edwin Barley?"

The speaker was the Rev. Mr. Martin, who
came slowly in, pointing to his attire.

" It is Barley's fault, and yon must blame him,
not me," he continued. " Barley invited me to
say grace at your table to-day, and then disap-
peared, keeping us waiting for him until now, and
giving me no time to go home and make myself
presentable."

"Never mind, Mr. Martin, there are worse
misfortunes at sea," she said, in that charmingly
attractive manner that she could sometimes use.
" I have sat down with gentlemen in shooting-
coats before to-day, and enjoyed my dinner
none the worse for it. Is that you, Miss
Delves?"

Footsteps were passing the open door, and Miss
Delves came in.

' ' Did you speak, Mrs. Edwin Barley ?"

" Yes. Take this child, please : she must
have some tea. Anne, dear, ask for anything to

ANNE HEREFORD. 31

eat that you best fancy. You shall come up
again after dinner/'

We went to a small parlour on the ground
floor — Miss Delves said it was her own sitting-
room — and she rang the bell. The maid who
had been gossiping at the front door came in to
answer it.

" Are you at tea still, Jemima V

" Yes, Miss Delves."

" I thought so. There's no regularity unless
l;m about everywhere myself. Bring in a
cup for Miss Hereford, and some bread and
butter."

They both left the room. I supposed that
Miss Delves was going to dine presently, for a
cloth was spread over one end of the table, with
a knife and silver forks, the cruet-stand and salt-
cellar, glasses, and a decanter of wine. Presently
Jemima came back with a small tray, that had
my tea upon it. She seemed a free-and-easy
sort of girl, sat down in a chair, and began chat-
tering. Another servant came in with a small
jar of preserves. They called her Sarah.

" Miss Delves has sent some jam for the young

32 ANNE HEREFORD.

lady, if she'd like it. Or will she take a slice of
cold meat first, she says ?"

" I'll have the jam, please/''

" That's right, miss," laughed Jemima.
" Sweets is good."

"Arn't you coming to your tea, Jemima?
There'll be a fuss if she comes in and finds you
have not begun it."

" Bother the tea ! We are not obliged to
swallow it down just at the minute she pleases,"
was the answer of Jemima.

" I say," exclaimed the other, suddenly, " what
do you think I saw? Young King "

Jemima gave a warning shake of the head, and
pointed to me. The conversation wras dropped
to a whisper, in which I once caught the words,
" that handsome George Heneage." Presently
steps were heard approaching, and the two maids
disturbed themselves. Sarah caught up the
plate of bread and butter, and stood as if she
were handing it to me, and Jemima stirred the fire
vigorously. It had been warm in the day, but the
bit of lighted fire in the grate looked pleasant in
the autumn evening. The footsteps passed on.

ANNE HEREFORD. 33

" How stupid you are, Sarah ! startling one
for nothing \" exclaimed Jemima.

" I thought it was Charlotte Delves. It sounded
just like her foot."

" She's in the kitchen, and won't come out of
it till the dinner's gone in. She's in one of her
tempers to-day."

" Is Charlotte Delves the mistress ?" I could
not help asking.

Both the maids burst out laughing. " She
would like to be, miss ; and she is, too, in many
things," answered Jemima. " When young
madam came home first "

" Hush, Jemima ! she may go and repeat it
again."

Jemima looked at me. " Xo : she does not
look like it. You won't go and repeat in the
drawing-room the nonsense we foolish servants
talk, will you, Miss Hereford ?"

" Of course I will not. Mamma taught me
never to carry tales ; she said it made mischief."

"And so it does, miss," cried Jemima.
" Your mamma was a nice lady, I'm sure ! Was
she not Mrs. Edwin Barley's sister ?"

vol. i. 3

34 ANNE HEREFORD.

Before I had time to answer, Charlotte Delves
came in. We had not heard her, and I thought
she must have crept up on tiptoe. Sarah made
her escape. Jemima took np the jam-pot.

"What are yon waiting for?" she demanded,
with asperity.

" I came in to see if the young lady wanted
anything, ma;am/;

"When Miss Hereford wants anything, she
will ring/''

Jemima retired. I went on with my tea,
and Miss Delves began asking me questions
about home and mamma. We were interrupted
by a footman. He was bringing the fish out
of the dining-room, and he laid the dish down
on the table. Miss Delves turned her chair
towards it, and began her dinner. I found
that this was her usual manner of dining, but
I thought it a curious one. The dishes, as
they came out of the dining-room, were placed
before her, and she helped herself. Her other
meals she tooit when she pleased, Jemima
generally waiting upon her. I did wonder
who she could be.

ANNE HEREFORD. 35

It seemed that I had to sit there a long -while.
I was then taken upstairs hj Jemima, and my
hair brushed. It hung down in curls all round,
and Jemima pleased me by saying it was the
loveliest brown hair she ever saw. Then I was
marshalled to the drawing-room. Jemima
opened the door quietly, and I went in, seen, I
believe, by nobody. It was a large room, of a
three-cornered shape, quite full of bright fur-
niture. Selina's grand piano was in the angle.

Standing before the fire, talking, were the
clergyman and Mr. Edwin Barley. A stranger
might have taken the one for the other, for the
clergyman was in his sporting clothes, and Mr.
Barley was all in black, with a white neckcloth.
On a distant sofa, apparently reading a news-
paper, sat Philip King; his features were hand-
some, but they had a very cross, disagreeable
expression. He held the newspaper nearly level
with his face, and I saw that his eyes, instead of
being on it, were watching the movements of
Mrs. Edwin Barley. She was at the piano, not
so much singing or playing, as trying scraps of
songs and pieces ; Mr. Heneage standing by and

3—2

36 ANNE HEREFORD.

talking to her. I went quietly round by the
chairs at the back, and sat down on the low foot-
stool at the corner of the hearth. The clergyman
saw me and smiled. Mr. Barley did not; he
stood with his back to me. He also seemed to
be watching the piano, or those at it, while he
spoke in a low, confidential tone with the
clergyman.

" I disagree with you entirely, Barley/'' Mr.
Martin was saying. " Rely upon it, he will be all
the better and happier for following a profession.
Why ! at Easter he made up his mind to read
for the Bar I"

te Young men are changeable as the wind,
especially those whom fortune has placed at ease
in the world," replied Mr. Barley. " Philip was
red-hot for the Bar at Easter, as you observe ;
but something appears to have set him against
it now."

" You, as his guardian and trustee, should
urge him to take it up ; or, if not that, some-
thing else. A life of idleness plays the very
ruin with some natures ; and it strikes me that
Philip King has no great resources within him

ANNE HEREFORD. 37

to counteract the mischief of non-occupation.
What is the amount of his property ?" resumed
Mr. Martin, after a pause.

"About eighteen hundred pounds a year the
estate brings in."

" Nonsense ! I thought it was only ten or
twelve/''

"Eighteen, full. Reginald's was a long
minority, you know."

"Well, if it brought in eight-and-twenty, I
should still say give him a profession. Let him
have some legitimate work ; occupy his hands
and his head, and they won't get into mischief.
That's sound advice, mind, Barley.''''

" Quite sound/' rejoined Mr. Barley ; but
there was a tone in his voice throughout, that to
me seemed to tell either of want of sincerity or
else of a knowledge that to urge a profession on
Philip King would be wrong and useless. At
this period of my life people used to reproach
me with taking up prejudices, likes, and dislikes ;
as I grew older, I knew that God had gifted me
in an eminent degree with the faculty of reading
human countenances and human tones.

3S ANNE HEREFORD.

" I have no power to force a profession upon
him/' resumed Mr. Edwin Barley ; " and I
should not exercise it if I had . Shall I tell you
why ?'

« Well."
, " I don't think his lungs are sound. In my
opinion, he is likely to go off as his brother
did."

" Of consumption V9 hastily muttered the
clergyman : and Mr. Edwin Barley nodded.

" Therefore, why urge him to fag at acquiring
a profession that he may not live to exercise ?"
continued Mr. Barley. " He looks anything but
well ; he is nothing like as robust as he was at
Easter."

Mr. Martin turned his head and attentively
scanned the face of Philip King. " I don't see
anything the matter with him, Barley, except
that he looks uncommonly cross. I hope you
are mistaken/'

<c I hope I am. I saw a whole row of medi-
cine phials in his ro om yesterday : when I in-
quired what they did there, he told me they con-
tained steel medicine — tonics — the physician at

ANNE HEREFORD. 39

Oxford had ordered them. Did you ever notice
him at dinner — what he eats ?"

"Not particularly.'"

" Do so, then, on the next opportunity. He
takes scarcely anything. The commencement of
Reginald's malady was loss of appetite : the doc-
tors prescribed tonics for him. But they did not
succeed in saving him."

Once more Mr. Martin turned his eyes on
Philip King. " How old was Reginald King
when he died V

u Twenty-three. Three years older than Philip
is now."

"Well, poor fellow, I hope he will outlive his
weakness, whatever may cause it, and get strong
again. That money of his would be a nice
windfall for somebody to drop into," added the
clergyman, after a pause. "Who is heir-at-
law?"

« I am."

" You !"

i( Of course I am," was the quiet reply of Mr.
Edwin Barley.

" Nurse him up, nurse him up, then," said

40 ANNE HEREFORD.

the clergyman, jokingly. " Lest, if anything
did happen, the world should say you had not
done your best to prevent it ; for you know you
are a dear lover of money, Barley."

There may have been a great deal more said,
but I did not hear. My head had sought the
wall for its resting-place, and sleep stole over me.

"What I felt most glad of, the next morning,
was to get my purse. There were twenty- seven
shillings in it ; and old Betty had caused it to
be put in one of the boxes, vexing me. " People
in the train might rob me of it," she said.

Jemima waited on me at dressing, and I had
breakfast in Miss Delves's parlour. Afterwards
I went up to Mrs. Edwin Barley in the drawing-
room. She was in mourning, deep as mine.

" I had been tempted to put it off for a cool
dress yesterday evening/'' she said to me. " What
with the dinner, and the fire they will have,
though I am sure it is not weather for it, I feel
melted in black. The fire is kept large to please
Philip King. So Miss Delves informed me when
I remonstrated against it the other day. He
must be of a chilly nature."

ANNE HEREFORD. 41

Remembering what I had heard said the pre-
vious night, I thought he might be. But the
words had afforded the opportunity for a ques-
tion that I was longing, in my curiosity, to put.

" Selina, who is Miss Delves ? Is she a lady
or a servant?"

" You had better not call her a servant, Anne ;
she would never forgive it/' answered Selina,
with a laugh. " She is a relative of Mr. Edwin
Barley's."

" Then, why does she not sit with you, and
dine at table ?"

" Because I do not choose that she shall sit
with me, and dine at table," was the resentful,
haughty retort ; and I could see that there had
been some past unpleasantness in regard to Miss
Delves. " When Mr. Edwin Barley's mother
died, who used to live with him, Charlotte Delves
came here as mistress of the house. That was
all very well so long as there was no legitimate
mistress, but ages went on, and I came to it.
She assumed a great deal; I found she was
planted down at table with us, and made herself
my companion in the drawing-room at will. I

42 ANNE HEREFORD.

did not like it ; and one day I told my husband
so in her presence. I said that I must be the
sole mistress in my own house, and quitted the
room, leaving them to settle it. Since then she
has taken the parlour for her sitting-room, and
looks to the household, as she did before. In
short, Miss Delves is housekeeper. I have no
objection to that; it saves me trouble, and I
know nothing of domestic management. Now
and then I invite her to take tea with us, or to a
drive with me in the pony carriage, and we are
vastly polite to each other always.''''

" But if you do not like her "

" Like her \" interrupted Selina. " My dear
child, we hate each other like poison. It was
not in human nature, you know, for her not to
feel my entrance to the house as a wrong, dis-
placing her from her high post, and from the
influence she had contrived to acquire over Mr.
Edwin Barley. They were as intimate as brother
and sister ; and I believe he is the only living
being she cares for in the whole world. When I
took a high tone with her, it exasperated her all
the more against me, there's no doubt of it j and

ANNE HEREFORD. 43

she repays it by carrying petty tales of me to
Mr. Edwin Barley."

" And whose part did he take, Selma ?"

"Mine, of course — always?" she returned,
with a forcible emphasis on the first word.
" But it has never been open warfare between
me and Miss Delves, Anne; you must under-
stand that. Should anything of the sort super-
vene, she would have to quit the house. A bitter
pill that would be, for she has no money, and
would have to go out as housekeeper in reality,
or something of the kind. My occupation would
be gone then."

" What occupation ?"

" The saying and doing all sorts of wild things
to make her think ill of me. She goes and
whispers them to Mr. Edwin Barley. He listens
to her — I know he does, and that provokes me.
Well, little pet, what are those honest brown eyes
of yours longing to say ?"

" "Why did you marry him, Selina V

a People say for money, Anne. I say it was
fate."

" He persuaded you, perhaps ?"

44 ANNE HEREFORD.

" He did. Persuaded, pressed, worried me.
He was two years talking me into it. Better,
perhaps, that he had given his great love else-
where ? Better for him, possibly, that he had
married Charlotte Delves \"

" But did he want to marry Charlotte Delves V}

" Never. I don't believe that even the
thought ever entered his head. The servants say
she used to hope it ; but they rattle nonsense at
random. Edwin Barley never cared but for two
things in the world : myself and money/''

" Money ?"

" Money, Anne. Pretty little pieces of gold
and silver; new, crisp bank-notes; yellow old
deeds of parchment, representing houses and
lands. He cares for money almost as much as
for me ; and he'll care for it more than for me in
time. Who's this ?"

It was Philip King. He came in, looking
more cross, if possible, than he did the previous
night. His face shone out sickly, too, in the
bright morning sun. Selina spoke, but did not
offer her hand.

" Good morning, Mr. King ; I hope you feel

ANNE HEREFORD. 45

better to-day. You did not get down to break-
fast, I understand. Neither did I."

(( I did get down to breakfast/" he answered,
speaking as if something had very much put him
out. " I took it with Mr. Edwin Barley in his
study."

" Leaving George Heneage to breakfast alone.
You two polite men! Had I known that, I
would have come down and breakfasted with
him."

That she said this in a spirit of mischief, in a
manner most especially calculated to provoke
him, I saw by the saucy look that shot from her
bright blue eyes.

" I think you and Heneage breakfast together
quite often enough as it is, Mrs. Edwin
Barley."

" You do ? Then, if I were you, sir, I would
have the good manners to keep such thoughts to
myself: or tell them to Mr. Edwin Barley, if
you like. He might offer you a premium for
them — who knows ?"

Philip King was getting into an angry heat.

" I hope you have tolerably strong shoulders/'

46 ANNE HEREFORD.

she resumed, as if struck with some suddeu
thought.

" Why so ?"

" George Heneage intends to try his cane
upon them on the next convenient day."

His lips turned white.

" Mrs. Barley, what do you mean V9

" Just what I say. You have taken to peep
and pry after me — whether set on by any one, or
from some worthy motive of your own, you best
know. It will not serve you, Philip King. If
there be one thing more detestable than another,
it is that of spying. I happened to mention this
new pastime of yours before Mr. Heneage, and
he observed that he had a cane somewhere.
That's all."

The intense aggravation with which she said it
was enough to rouse the ire of one less excitable
than Philip King. He was breaking out in
abuse of Mr. Heneage, when the latter happened
to come in. A few menacing words, a dark look
or two from either side, and then came the
quarrel.

A quarrel that terrified me. I ran out of the

ANNE HEREFORD. 47

room ; I ran back again ; I don't know what I
did. Mrs. Edwin Barley seemed nearly as ex-
cited as they were : it was not the first time I
had seen her in a passion. She called ont
(taking the words from the old ballad, " Lord
Thomas/'') that she cared more for the little
finger of George Heneage than for the whole
body of ill-conditioned Philip King. I knew it
was only one of her wild sayings : when in a
passion she did not mind what she said, or whom
she offended. I knew that this present quarrel
was altogether Senna's fault — that her love of
provocation had brought it on. Mr. Edwin
Barley had gone over to his brother's ; and it was
well, perhaps, that it was so.

Jemima appeared on the stairs, carrying up a
pail — there was no back staircase to the house.
" What is the matter, Miss Hereford V she
asked. ec Goodness me ! how you are trembling \"

" They are quarrelling in there — Mr. He-
neage and Mr. King. I am afraid they will
fight."

" Oh, it has come to that, has it ?" said
Jemima, carelessly. " I thought it would.

4S ANNE HEREFORD.

Never mind them, Miss Hereford; they'll not
hurt yon.""

She tripped upstairs with the pail, as if* a
quarrel were the most natural event in the world,
and I looked into the room again. Mr. Heneage
held Philip King by the collar of the coat.

" Mark me \" he was saying ; " if I catch you
dodging my movements again, if I hear of your
being insolent to this lady, I'll shoot you
with as little compunction as I would a partridge.
There V

" What is Mrs. Edwin Barley to you, that you
should interfere ?" retorted Philip King, his voice
raised to a shriek. " And she ! Why does she
set herself to provoke me every hour of my life ?w

" I interfere of right : by my long friendship
with her, and by the respect I bear for her
mother's memory. Now you know.'"

Mr. Heneage gave a shake to the collar as he
spoke, and I ran up to my room, there to sob
out my fit of terror. My heart was beating, my
breath catching itself in gasps. In my own
peaceful home I had never seen or heard the
faintest shadow of a quarrel.

ANNE HEREFORD. 49

By-and-by Jemima came in search of me.
Mrs. Edwin Barley was waiting for me to go out
in the pony carriage. I washed my face and my
red eyes, was dressed, and went down. At the
door stood a low open basket-chaise, large and
wide, drawn by a pony. Mrs. Edwin Barley was
already in it, and Mr. Heneage stood waiting for
me. He drove, and I sat on a stool at their
feet. We went through green lanes, and over a
pleasant common. Not a word was said about
the recent quarrel ; but part of the time they
spoke together in an under-tone, and I did not
try to hear. We were away about two hours.

11 You can run about the grounds until your
dinner's ready, if you like, Anne/'' Mrs. Barley
said to me when we alighted. " I daresay
you feel cramped, sitting so long on that low
seat."

She went in with Mr. Heneage, the footman
saying that some ladies were waiting. I ran away
amidst the trees, and presently lost myself. As
I stood, wondering which way to take, Mr. Edwin
Barley and Philip King came through, arm-in-
arm, on their way home, talking together eagerly.

vol. i, 4

50 ANNE HEREFORD.

I thought Philip King was telling about the
quarrel.

It was no doubt unfortunate that my acquain-
tance with Mr. Edwin Barley should have begun
with a fright. I was a most impressionable child,
and could not get over that first fear. Every time
I met him, my heart, as the saying runs, leaped
into my mouth. He saw me and spoke.

" So you have got back, Anne Hereford V3

" Yes, sir," I answered, my lips feeling as if
they were glued together.

" Where's Mrs. Barley ?"

" She is gone indoors, sir."

" And George Heneage. Where's he ?"

" He went in also, sir. John said some visitors
were waiting to see Mrs. Barley. "

And to that he made no rejoinder, but went
on with Philip King.

Nothing more occurred that day to disturb the
peace of the house. A gentleman, who called in
the afternoon, was invited to dine, and stayed.
Mrs. Edwin Barley rang for me as soon as she
went up to the drawing-room. I thought how
lovely she looked in her black net dress, and

ANNE HEREFORD. 51

with the silver ornaments on her neck and
arms.

" What did yon think of Mr. Philip King's
temper this morning, Anne ?" she asked, as she
stood near the fire and sipped the cup of coffee
that John had brought in.

" Oh, Selina ! I never was so alarmed before."

" You little goose ! But it was a specimen,
was it not, of gentlemanly bearing V

" I think — I mean I thought — that it was not
Mr. King who was in fault/-' I said; not,
however, liking to say it.

"You thought it was George Heneage, I sup-
pose. Ah ! but you don't know all, Anne ; the
scenes behind the curtain are hidden to you.
Philip King has wanted a chastisement this fort-
night past ; and he got it. Unless he alters his
policy, he will get one of a different nature. Mr.
Heneage will as surely cane him as that I stand
here."

"Why do you like Mr. Heneage so much,
Selina?"

" I like him better than anybody I know,
Anne. Not with the sort of liking, however,

4—2

LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS

02 ANNE HEREFORD.

that Mr. Philip King would insinuate, the ■worthy
youth ! Though it is great fun/' she added, with
a merry laugh, " to let the young gentleman think
I do. I have known George Heneage a long
while : he used to visit at Keppe-Carew, and be
as one of ourselves. I could not like a brother,
if I had one, more than I do George Heneage.
And Mr. Philip King, and his ally, Charlotte
Delves, tell tales of me to my husband ! It is
as good as a comedy."

A comedy ! If she could but have foreseen
the comedy's ending !

On the following morning, Saturday, they all
went out shooting again. Mrs. Edwin Barley
had visitors in the forenoon, and afterwards she
drove over to Hallam in the pony carriage, with
the little boy-groom Tom, not taking me. I was
anywhere — with Charlotte Delves ; with Jemima ;
reading a fairy-tale I found ; playing " Poor Mary
Anne" on the piano. As it grew towards dusk,
and nobody came home, I went strolling down the
avenue, and met the pony carriage. Only Tom
was in it.

""Where is Mrs. Edwin Barlev V3

ANNE HEREFORD. 53

(i She is coming on, miss,, with Mr. Heneage.
He came up to the lodge-gate just as we got
back."

I weut to the end of the avenue, but did not
see her. The woman at the lodge said they had
taken the path on the left, which would equally
bring them to the house, though by a greater
round. I ran along it, and came to the pretty
summer-house that stood where the ornamental
grounds were railed off from the pasture at the
back and the wood beyond. At the foot of the
summer-house steps my aunt stood, straining her
eyes on a letter, in the fading light; George
Heneage was looking over her shoulder, a gun in
his hand.

" You see what they say/' he observed.
" Rather peremptory, is it not ?"

"George, you must go by the first train that
starts from Nettleby," she returned. " You should
not lose a minute ; the pony carriage will take
you. Is that you, Anne V

" I would give something to know what's up,
and why I am called for in this fashion," was his
rejoinder, spoken angrily. " They might let me

54 ANNE HEREFORD.

alone until the term I was invited for here is at
an end/''

Mrs. Edwin Barley laughed. " Perhaps onr
friend, Philip King, has favoured Heneage Grange
with a communication, telling of your fancied
misdoings."

No doubt she spoke it lightly, neither believing
her own words nor heeding the fashion of them.
But George Heneage took them seriously ; and
it unfortunately happened that she ran up the
steps at the same moment. A stir was heard in
the summer-house. Mr. Heneage dashed in in
time to see Philip King escaping by the opposite
door.

The notion that he had been " spying " was,
of course, taken up by Mr. Heneage. With a
passionate word, he was speeding after him ; but
Mrs. Edwin Barley caught his arm.

" George, you shall not go. There might be
murder done between you."

" Til pay him off; Fll make him remember
it ! Pray release me. I beg your pardon,
Selina."

For he had flung her hand away with rather

ANNE HEREFORD. 00

too much force, in his storm of passion ; and
was crashing through the opposite door, and
down the steps, in pursuit of Philip King. Both
of them made straight for the wood ; but Philip
King had a good start, and nothing in his hand ;
George Heneage had his gun. Selina alluded
to it.

" I hope it is not loaded ! Flying along with
that speed, he might strike it against a tree, and
be shot before he knows it. Anne, look here !
You are fleeter than I. Run you crossways over
that side grass to the corner entrance ; it will
take you to a path in the wood where you will
just meet them. Tell Mr. Heneage, from me,
that I command him to come back, and to let
Philip King alone. I command it, in his mother's
name/''

I did not dare to refuse, and yet scarcely
dared to go. I ran along, my heart beating.
Arrived at the entrance indicated I plunged in,
and went on down many turns and windings
amidst the trees. They were not very thick,
and were intersected by narrow paths. But no
one could I see.

56 ANNE HEREFORD.

And now arrived a small calamity. I had
lost my way. How to trace an exit from the
wood I knew not, and felt really frightened.
Down I sat on an old stump, and cried. What
if I should have to stay there until morning !

Not so. A slight noise made me look up.
Who should be standing near, his back against a
tree, smoking a cigar and smiling at me, but
Philip King.

" What is the grief, Miss Anne ? Have you
met a wolf?"

" I can't find my way out, sir."

" Oh, I'll soon show you that. We are al-
most close to the south border. You "

He stopped suddenly, turned his head, and
looked attentively in a direction to the left. At
that moment there came a report, something
seamed to whizz through the air, and strike
Philip King. He leaped up, and then fell to the
ground with a scream. This was followed, so
instantly that it seemed to be part and parcel of
the scream, by a distant exclamation of dismay
or of warning. From whom did it come ?

Though not perfectly understanding what had

ANNE HEREFORD. 57

occurred, or that Philip King had received a fatal
shot, I screamed also, and fell on my knees ; not
fainting, but with a sick, horrible sensation of fear,
such as perhaps no child ever before experienced.
And the next thing I saw was Mr. Edwin Barley,
coming towards us with his gun, not quite from
the same direction as the shot, but very near it.
I had been thinking that George Hencage must
have done it, but another question arose now to
my terrified heart : Could it have been Mr. Edwin
Barley ?

<e Philip, what is it V* he asked, as he came
up. " Has any one fired at you?"

" George Hencage," was the faint rejoinder.
" I saw him. He stood there. ,J

With a motion of the eyes, rather than with
aught else, poor Philip King pointed to the left,
and Mr. Edwin Barley turned and looked, laying
his gun against a tree. Nothing was to be seen.

" Are you sure, Philip ?"

" I tell it you with my dying lips. I saw
him."

Xot another word. Mr. Edwin Barley raised
his head, but the face had grown still, and had

58 ANNE HEREFORD.

an awful shade upon it — the same shade that
mamma's first wore after she was dead. Mr.
Barley put the head gentry down, and stood
looking at him. All in a moment he caught
sight of me, and I think it startled him.

" Are you there, you little imp ?"

But the word, ugly though it sounds, was
spoken in rough surprise, not in unkindness. I
cried and shook, too terrified to give any answer.
Mr. Barley stood up before Philip King, so that
I no longer saw him.

te What were you doing in the wood ?"

" I lost my way, and could not get out, sir/''
1 sobbed, trembling lest he should press for
further details. " That gentleman saw me, and
was saying he would show me the way out, when
he fell."

" Had he been here long ?"

" I don't know. I was crying a good while,
and not looking up. It was only a minute ago
that I saw him standing there/'

" Did you see Mr. Heneage fire ?"

" Oh no, sir. I did not see Mr. Heneage
at all."

ANNE HEREFORD. 59

He took my hand, walked with me a few steps,
and showed me a path that was rather wider than
the others.

" Go straight down here nntil yon come to a
cross-path, running right and left : it is not far.
Take the one to the right, and it will bring you
out in front of the house. Do you understand,
little one ?'

" Yes, sir/'' I answered, though, in truth, too
agitated to understand distinctly, and only
anxious to get away from him. Suppose he
should shoot me ! was running through my foolish
thoughts.

" Make speed to the housei then/' he resumed,
" and see Charlotte Delves. Tell her what has
occurred : that Philip King has been shot, and
that she must send help to convey him home.
She must also send at once for the doctor,
and for the police. Can you remember all
that?"

cc Oh yes, sir. Is he much hurt ?"

" He is dead, child. Now be as quick as you
can. Do not tell your aunt what has happened :
it would alarm her."

60 ANNE HEREFORD.

I sped along quicker than any child ever sped
before, and soon came to the crosspath. But
there I made a mistake : I went blindly on to
the left, instead of to the right, and I came
suddenly upon Mr. Heneage. He was standing
quite still, leaning on his gun, his finger on his
lip to impose silence and caution on me, and his
face looked as I had never seen it look before,
white as death.

" Whose voice was that I heard talking to
you V he asked, in a whisper.

" Mr. Edwin Barley's. Oh, sir, don't stop
me j Mr. King is dead V

" Dead ! Mr. King dead ?>

" Yes, sir. Mr. Edwin Barley says so, and I
am on my way to the house to tell Miss Delves to
send for the police. Mr. Heneage, did you do it ?"

" I ! You silly child \" he returned, in an
accent of rebuke. " What in the world put
that in your head ? I have been looking for
Philip King — waiting here in the hope that he
might pass. There, go along, child, and don't
tremble so. That way : you are coming from
the house, this."

ANNE HEREFORD. Gl

Back I went, my fears increasing. To an.
imaginative, excitable, and timid nature, such as
mine, all this was simply terrible. I did gain
the house, but only to rush into the arms of
Jemima, who happened to be in the hall, and
fall into a fit of hysterical, nervous, sobbing cries,
clinging to her tightly, as if I could never let
her go again.

A pretty messenger, truly, in time of need !

CHAPTER III.

GOING OUT IN THE FOG.

Help had arrived from another quarter. A knot
of labourers on the estate, going home from
work, happened to choose the road through the
wood, and Mr. Edwin Barley heard them.

One of them, a young man they called Duff,
was at the house almost as soon as I. He came
into the hall, and saw me clinging to Jemima.
Nothing could have stopped my threatened
fit of hysterics so effectually as an inter-
ruption. Duff told his tale. The young heir
had been shot in the wood, he said. " Shot
dead!"

" The young heir \'3 cried Jemima, with a cry.
She was at no loss to understand who was
meant : it was what Philip King had been mostly
styled since his brother's death. Charlotte
Delves came forward as Duff was speaking. Duff

ANNE HEREFORD. G3

took off his felt hat in deference to her, and
explained.

She turned as white as a sheet — white as
George Heneage had looked — and sat down on a
chair. Duff had not mentioned George Heneage's
name, only Mr. Edwin Barley's : perhaps she
thought it was the latter who had fired the
shot.

u It must have been an accident, Duff. Thev
are so careless with their guns V

"No, ma'am, it was murder! Leastways,
that's what they are saying/'

" He cannot be dead "

{: He's as dead as a door-nail !" affirmed Duff,
with decision. "I can't be mistaken in a dead
man. I've seen enough of 'em, father being the
grave-digger. They are bringing him on, ma'am,
now."

Even as Duff spoke, sounds of the approach
stole on the air from the distance — the measured
tread of feet that bear a burden. It came
nearer and nearer; and Philip King, or what
was left of him, was laid on the large table in
the hall. As is the case in some country houses,

64 ANNE HEREFORD.

the liall was furnished like a plain room. Duff,
making ready, had pushed the table close to the
window, between the wall and the entrance-
door, shutting me into a corner. I sank down
on the matting, not daring to move.

" Light the lamp/' said Mr. Edwin Barley.

The news had spread; the servants crowded
in ; some of the Avomen began to shriek. It be-
came one indescribable scene of confusion, ex-
clamations, and alarm. Mr. Edwin Barley turned
round, in anger.

" Clear out, all of you \" he said, roughly.
" What do you mean by making this uproar ?
You men can stay in the barn, you may be
wanted/'' he added, to the out-door labourers.

They crowded out at the hall- door ; the ser-
vants disappeared through the opposite one. Mr.
Edwin Barley was one who brooked no delay in
being obeyed. Miss Delves remained, and she
drew near.

" How did it happen ?" she asked, in a low
voice, that did not sound much like hers.

" Get me some brandy, and a teaspoon \" was
Mr. Edwin Barley's rejoinder. " He is certainly

ANNE HEREFORD. 65

dead, as I believe ; but we must try restoratives,
for all that. Make haste ; bring it in a wine-
glass. "

She ran into the dining-room, and in the same
moment Mrs. Edwin Barley came lightly down
the stairs. She had on her dinner- dress, black
silk trimmed with crape, no ornaments yet, and
her lovely light hair was hanging down on her
bare neck. The noise, as it appeared, had dis-
turbed her in the midst of dressing.

" "What is all this disturbance ?" she began, as
she tripped across the hall, and it was the first
intimation Mr. Edwin Barley had of her pre-
sence. He might have arrested her, had there
been time ; but she was bending over the table
too soon. Believing, as she said afterwards, that
it was a ]oad of game lying there, it must have
been a great shock; the grey-and-brown woollen
plaid they had flung over him, from the neck
downwards, looking not unlike the colour of par-
tridge feathers in the dim light. There was no
gas in the house ; oil was burnt in the hall and
passages — wax-candles in the sitting-rooms.

" It is Philip King I" she cried, with a sort of

VOL. I. 5

66 ANNE HEREFORD.

shriek. " What is the matter ? What is amiss
with him ?"

" Don't you see what it is ?" returned Mr.
Edwin Barley, who was all this while chafing the
poor cold hands. " He has been shot in the
chest; marked out in the wood, and shot down
like a dog."

A cry of dread — of fear — broke from her.
She began to tremble violently. " How was it
done, Edwin ? Who did it V3

" You."

"II" came from her ashy lips. "Are you
going mad, Edwin Barley V3

11 Selina, this is as surely the result of your
work as though you had actually drawn the
trigger. I hope you are satisfied with it \"

" How can you be so cruel V3 she asked, her
bosom heaving, her breath bursting from her in
gasps.

He had spoken to her in a low, calm tone —
not an angry one. It changed to sorrow now.

" I thought harm would come of it ; I have
thought so these two days ; not, however, such
harm as this. You have been urging that fellow

ANNE HEREFORD. G7

a little too much against this defenceless ward
and relative of mine ; but I could not have sup-
posed he would carry it on to murder. Philip
King would have died quite soon enough without
that, Selina ; he was following Reginald with
galloping strides/''

Charlotte Delves returned with a tea-spoon
and the brandy in a wine-glass. As is sure to be
the case in an emergency,, there had been an un-
avoidable delay. The spirit-stand was not in its
place, and for a minute or two she had been un-
able to find it. Mr. Edwin Barley took up a
teaspoonfuh His wife drew away.

" Was it an accident, or — or — done delibe-
rately T* inquired Charlotte Delves, as she stood
there, holding the glass.

" It was deliberate murder !"
" Duff said so. But who did it ?"
ts It is of no use, Charlotte," was all the reply
Mr. Barley made, as he gave her back the tea-
spoon. " He is quite dead."

Hasty footsteps were heard running along the
avenue, and up the steps to the door. They proved
to be those of Mr. Lowe, the surgeon from Hallam.

5—2

68 ANNE HEREFORD.

" I was walking over to Smith's to dinner, Mr.
Edwin Barley, and met one of your labourers
coming for me/' he exclaimed, in a lond tone, as
he entered. " He said some accident had hap-
pened to yonng King."

" Accident enough/' said Mr. Edwin Barley.
" Here he lies."

Eor a few moments nothing more was said.
Mr. Lowe was stooping over the table.

" I was trying to give him some brandy when
yon came in."

" He'll never take brandy or anything else
again," was the reply of Mr. Lowe. " He is
dead."

" As I feared. Was as sure of it, in fact, as a
non-professional man can well be. I believe that
he died in the wood, a minute after the shot
struck him."

" How did it happen ?" asked the surgeon.
' ' These young fellows are so careless !"

" I'll tell you all I know," said Mr. Barley.
" We had been out shooting — he, I, and Heneage,
with the two keepers. He and Heneage were
not upon good terms ; they were sour with each

ANNE HEREFORD. 69

other as could be ; had been cross aud crabbed
all day. Coming home, Heneage dropped us ;
whether to go forward, or to lag behind, I am
unable to say. After that, we met Smith — as he
can tell you, if you are going to his house. He
stopped me about that right-of-common business,
and began discussing what would be our better
mode of proceeding against the fellows. Philip
King, whom it did not interest, said he should go
on, and Smith and I sat down on the bench out-
side the beershop, and called for a pint of cider.
Half-an-hour we may have sat there, and then I
started for home through the wood, which cuts
off the corner "

" Philip King having gone forward, did you
say?" interrupted the surgeon.

" Yes. I was nearly through the wood, when
I heard a slight movement near me, and then a
gun was tired. A terrible scream — the scream
of a man, Lowe — succeeded in an opposite direc-
tion. I pushed through the trees, and saw Philip
King. He had leaped up with the shot, and was
then falling to the ground. I went to his suc-
cour, and asked who had done it. { George

70 ANNE HEREFORD.

Heneage/ was his answer. He had seen him
raise his gun, take aim, and fire upon him."

Crouching down there on the matting, trem-
bling though I was, an impulse prompted me to
interrupt : to say that Mr. Edwin Barley's words
went beyond the truth. All that Philip King
had said was, that he saw George Heneage, saw
him stand there. But fear was more powerful
than impulse, and I remained silent. How
could I dare contradict Mr. Edwin Barley ?

" It must have been an accident/'' said Mr.
Lowe. " Heneage must have aimed at a bird."

" There's no doubt that it was deliberate
murder ! - replied Mr. Edwin Barley. " My ward
affirmed it to me with his dying lips. They were
his own words. I expressed a doubt, as you are
doing. ' It was Heneage/ he said ; ' I tell it you
with my dying lips/ A bad man ! — a villain \"
Mr. Barley emphatically added. " Another day
or two, and I should have kicked him out of
my house ; I waited but a decent pretext/'

" If he is that, why did you have him in it V
asked the surgeon.

" Because it is but recently that my eyes have

ANNE HEREFORD. 71

been opened to him and his ways. This poor
fellow/'' pointing to the dead, " lifted their scales
for me in the first instance. Pity the other is
not the one to be lying here \"

Sounds of hysterical emotion were heard on
the stairs : they came from Mrs. Edwin Barley.
It appeared that she had been sitting on the
lowest step all this while, her face bent on her
knees, and must have heard what passed. Mr.
Barley, as if wishing to offer an apology for her,
said she had just looked on Philip King's face,
and it had frightened her much.

Mr. Lowe tried to persuade her to retire
from the scene, but she would not, and there she
sat on, growing calm by degrees. The surgeon
measured something in a teaspoon into a wine-
glass, filled it up with cold water, and made her
drink it. He then took his leave, saying that
he would call again in the course of the evening.
Not a minute had he been gone, when Mr.
Martin burst into the hall.

" What is this report ?" he cried, in agitation.
u People are saying that Philip King is killed."

u They might have said murdered," said

72 ANNE HEREFORD.

Mr. Edwin Barley. " Heneage shot him in the
wood."

" Heneage \"

" Heneage. Took aim, and fired at him, and
killed him. There never was a case of more
deliberate murder."

That Mr. Edwin Barley was actuated by
intense animus as he said this, the tone proved.

" Poor fellow \" said the clergyman, gently,
as he leaned over him and touched his face.
" I have seen for some days they were not
cordial. What ill -blood could have been be-
tween them ?"

" Heneage had better explain that when he
makes his defence," said Mr. Edwin Barley,
grimly.

" It is but a night or two ago that we were
speculating on his health, upon his taking a pro-
fession ; we might have spared ourselves the
pains, poor lad. I asked you, who was his heir-
at-law, little thinking another would so soon
inherit."

Mr. Edwin Barley made no reply.

" Why — good heavens ! — is that Mrs. Barley

ANNE HEREFORD. 73

sitting there ?" he inquired, in a low tone,, as
his eyes fell on the distant stairs.

" She won't move away. These things do
terrify women. Don't notice her, Martin : she
will be better left to herself."

" Upon my word, this is a startling and
sudden blow/' resumed the clergyman, again
recurring to the death. " But you must surely
be mistaken in calling it murder."

" There's no mistake about it : it was wilful
murder. I am as sure of it as though I had seen
the aim taken/' persisted Mr. Barley. te And I
will pursue Heneage to the death."

" Have you secured him ? If it really is
murder, he must answer for it. Where is
he ?"

Mr. Barley spoke a passionate word. It was
a positive fact — account for it, anyone that can —
that until that moment he had never given a
thought to the securing of George Heneage.
" What a fool I have been !" he exclaimed,
" what an idiot ! He has had time to escape."

" He cannot have escaped far."

" Stay here, will you, Martin. I'll send the

74 ANNE HEREFORD.

labourers after him ; he may be biding in the
wood until the night's darker."

Mr. Edwin Barley hastened from the ball, and
the clergyman bent over the table again. I had
my face turned to him, and was scarcely con-
scious, until it bad passed, of something dark
that glided from the back of the ball, and fol-
lowed Mr. Barley out. With him gone, to whom
I had taken so unaccountable a dislike and
dread, it was my favourable moment for escape ;
I seemed to fear him more than poor Philip
King on the table. But nervous terror held
possession of me still, and in moving I cried
out in spite of myself. The clergyman looked
round.

"I declare it is little Miss Hereford!" he
said, very kindly, as be took my hand. " What
brought you there, my dear?"

I sobbed out the explanation. That I bad
been pushed into the corner by the table, and
was afraid to move. " Don't . tell, sir, please I
Mr. Edwin Barley might be angry with inc.
Don't tell him I was there."

" He would not be angry at a little girl's very

ANNE HEREFORD. 7o

natural fears/'' answered Mr. Martin, stroking
my hair. " But I will not tell him. Will you
stay by your aunt, Mrs. Edwin Barley ?"

" Yes, please, sir/'

" But where is Mrs. Barley ?" he resumed, as
he led me towards the stairs.

" I was wondering, too," interposed Charlotte
Delves, who stood at the dining-room door.
" A minute ago she was still sitting there. I
turned into the room for a moment, and when I
came back she was gone."

" She must have gone up-stairs, Miss
Delves."

" I suppose she has, Mr. Martin," was Miss
Delves's reply. But a thought came over me
that it must have been Mrs. Edwin Barley who
had glided out at the hall-door.

And, in point of fact, it was. She was sought
for up-stairs, and could not be found; she was
sought for down-stairs, all in vain. Whither
had she gone ? On what errand was she bent ?
One of those raw, damp fogs, prevalent in the
autumn months, had come on, making the air
wet, as if with rain, and she had no out-door

76 ANNE HEREFORD.

things on, no bonnet, and her black silk dress
had a low body and short sleeves. Was she
with her husband, searching the wood for
George Heneage?

The dark oak-door that shut out the passage
leading to the domains of the servants was
pushed open, and Jemima's head appeared at it.
I ran and laid hold of her.

u Oh, Jemima, let me stay by you !w

" Hark V she whispered, putting her arm
ronnd me. " There are horses galloping np to
the house."

Two police-officers, mounted. They gave
their horses in charge to one of the men-servants,
and came into the hall, the scabbards of their
swords clanking against the steps.

" I don't like the look of them/' whispered
Jemima. " Let us go away."

She took me to the kitchen. Sarah, Mary,
and the cook were in it ; the latter a tall, stout
woman, with a rosy colour and black eyes. Her
chief concern seemed to be for the dinner.

" Look here," she exclaimed to Jemima, as she
stood over her saucepans, " everything's a-spiling.

ANNE HEREFORD. 77

Who's to know whether they'll have it served in
one honr or in two ?"

" I should think they wouldn't have it served
at all," returned Jemima : " that sight in the
hall's enough dinner for them to-day, one would
suppose. The police are come now."

" Ah, it is bad, I know," said the cook. u And
the going to look at it took everything else out
of my head, worse luck to me ! I forgot my soles
were on the fire, and when I got back they were
burnt to the pan. I've had to skin 'em now, and
put 'em into wine sauce. Who's this coming in ?"

It way Miss Delves. The cook appealed to her
about the dinner.

" It won't be eatable, ma'am, if it's kept much
longer. Some of the dishes is half cold, and
some's dried up to a scratchin'."

" There's no help for it, cook ; you must
manage it in the best way you can," was Miss
Delves's reply. " It is a dreadful thing to have
happened, but I suppose dinner must be served
all the same for the master and Mrs. Edwin
Barley."

11 Miss Delves, is it true what they arc saying

78 ANNE HEREFORD.

— that it was Mr. Heneage who did it ?" inquired
Sarah.

" Suppose you trouble yourself with your own
affairs, and let alone what does not concern you,"
was Miss Delves's reprimand.

She left the kitchen. Jemima made a motion
of contempt after her, and gave the door a bang.

" She'll put in her word against Mr. Heneage,
I know; for she didn't like him. But I am
confident it was never he that did it — unless his
gun went off accidental."

For full an hour by the clock wc stayed in the
kitchen, uninterrupted, the cook reducing herself
to a state of despair over the uncalled-for dinner.
The men-servants had been sent out, some to one
place, some to another. The cook served us
some coffee and bread-and-butter, but I don't
think any one of us touched the latter. I thought
by that time my aunt must surely have come in,
and asked Jemima to take me up stairs to her.
A policeman was in the hall as we passed across
the back of it, and Charlotte Delves and Mr.
Martin were sitting in the dining-room, the door
open. Mrs. Edwin Barley was nowhere to be

ANNE HEREFORD. 79

found, and we went back to the kitchen. I began
to cry; a dreadful fear came upon me that she
might have gone away for ever, and left me to
the companionship of Mr. Edwin Barley.

" Come and sit down here, child/' said the
cook, in a motherly way, as she placed a low stool
near the fire. " It's enough to frighten her, poor
little stranger, to have this happen, just as she
comes into the house/''

" I say, though, where can the mistress be V
Jemima said to her, in a low tone, as I drew the
stool into the shade and sat down, leaning my
head against the wall.

Presently Miss Delves's bell rang. The servants
said they always knew her ring — it came with a
jerk. Jemima went to answer it. It was for
some hot water, which she took up. Somebody
was going to have brandy-and-water, she said ;
perhaps Mr. Martin — she did not know. Her
master was in the hall then, and Mr. Barley, of
the Oaks, was with him.

« Who's Mr. Barley of the Oaks, Jemima V3 I
asked.

" He is master's elder brother, miss. He lives

80 ANNE HEREFORD.

at the Oaks, about three miles from here. Such
a nice place it is — ten times better than this.
Wlien the old gentleman died, Mr. Barley came
into the Oaks, and Mr. Edwin into this."

Then there was silence again for another half
hour. I sat with my eyes closed, and heard
them say I was asleep. The young farm labourer,
Duff, came in at last.

" "Well/' said he, " it have been a useless chase.
I wonder whether I am wanted for anything else."
" Where have you been ?" asked Jemima.
i{ Scouring the wood, seven of us, in search of
Mr. Heneage : and them two mounted police is
a-dashing about the roads. "We haven't found
him."

"Duff, Mr. Heneage no more did it than you
did."

" That's all you know about it," was Duff's
answer. " Master says he did."

" Have a cup of coffee, Duff?" asked the cook.
" Thank ye," said Duff. " I'd be glad on't."
She was placing the cup before him, when he
suddenly leaned forward from the chair he had
taken, speaking in a covert whisper.

ANNE HEREFORD. 81

" I say, who do you think was in the wood, a-
scouring it, up one path and down another, as
much as ever we was Vs

" Who ?" asked the servants in a breath.
" The young missis. She hadn't got an earthly
thing on her but just what she sits in, indoors.
Her hair was down, and her neck and arms was
bare ; and there she was, a-racing up and down
like one demented/''

" Tush \" said the cook. " You must have
seen double. What should bring young madam
dancing about the wood, Duff, at this time
q3 night ?'

" I tell ye I see her. I see her three times
over. Maybe she was looking for Mr. Heneage,
too. At any rate, there she was, and with nothing
on, as if she'd started out in a hurry, and had
forgot to dress herself. And if she don't catch
a cold, it's odd to me/' added Duff. " The fog's
as thick as pea-soup, and wets you worse than
rain. 'Twas enough to give her her death."

Duff's report was true. As he spoke, a bell
called Jemima up again. She came back, laid
hold of me without speaking, and took me to the
vol. i. 6

83 ANNE HEREFORD.

drawing-room. Mrs. Edwin Barley stood there,
just come in : she was shaking like a leaf, with
the damp and cold, her hair dripping wet. When
she had seen her husband leave the hall in search
of George Heneage, an impulse came over her to
follow and interpose between the anger of the two,
should they meet. At least, partly this, partly
to look after George Heneage herself, and warn
him to escape. She gave me this explanation
openly.

" I could not find him," she said, kneeling
down before the fire, and holding out her shiver-
ing arms to the blaze. " I hope and trust he has
escaped. One man's life is enough for me to
have upon my hands, without having two."

" Oh, Aunt Selina ! you did not take Philip
King's life \"

" No, I did not take it. And I have been
guilty of no intentional wrong. But I did set
the one against the other, Anne — in my vanity
and wilfulness/''

Looking back to the child's eyes with which I
saw things then, and judging of these same
tilings with my woman's experience now, I can

ANNE HEREFORD. 83

but hold Selina Barley entirely to blame. An
indulged daughter, born when her sister Ursula
was nearly grown, she had been suffered to have
her own way at Keppe-Carew, and grew up to
think the world was made for her. Dangerously
attractive, fond to excess of admiration, she had
probably encouraged Philip King's boyish fancy,
and then turned round upon him for it. At the
previous Easter, on his former visit, she had been
all smiles and sweetness ; this time she had done
nothing but turn him into ridicule. " What is
sport to you may be death to me," says the fly to
the spider. It might not have mattered so much
from her, this ridicule ; but she pressed George
Heneage into the service : and Philip King was
not of a disposition to bear it tamely. His weak
health made him appear somewhat of a coward ;
he was not strong enough to take the law into his
own hands, and repay Mr. Heneage with per-
sonal chastisement. Selina's liking for George
Heneage was no doubt great ; but it was not an
improper liking, although the world — the little
world at Mr. Edwin Barley's — might have wished
to deem it so. Before she married Mr. Edwin

6—2

84 ANNE HEREFORD.

Barley, she refused George Heneage, and laughed
at him for proposing to her. She should wed a
rich man, she told him. or none at all. It was
Mr. Edwin Barley himself who invited Heneage
to his house, and also Philip King, as it most
unfortunately happened. His wife, in her wilful
folly — I had almost written her wilful wicked-
ness— played them off, one upon another. The
first day they met, Philip King took umbrage at
some remark of Mr. Hencage's, and Selina, lik-
ing the one, and disliking the other, forthwith
began. A few days on, and young King so far
forgot his good manners as to tell her she " liked
that Coxcomb Heneage too much/'' The reproach
made her laugh ; but she, nevertheless, out of
pure mischief, did what she could to confirm
Philip King in the impression. He, Philip King,
took to talk of this to Miss Delves ; he took to
watch Selina and George Heneage ; there could
be little doubt that he carried tales of his obser-
vation to Mr. Edwin Barley, which only incited
Selina to persevere ; the whole thing amused
her immensely. "What passed between Mr. and
Mrs. Edwin Barley, in private about it, whether

ANNE HEREFORD. 85

anything or nothing, was never known. At the
moment of the accident he was exceedingly
vexed with her; incensed may be the proper
word.

And poor Philip King ! perhaps, after all, his
death may have been a mistake — if it was in
truth George Heneage that it proceeded from.
Circumstances, as they came out, seemed to say
that he had not been " spying," but only taking
the short cut through the summer-house on his
way home from shooting ; an unusual route, it's
true, but not an impossible one. Seeing them
on the other side when he entered it, he waited
until they should proceed onwards ; but Mrs.
Barley's sudden run up the steps sent him away.
Not that he would avoid them ; only make his
escape, without their seeing him, lest he should
be accused of the very thing they did accuse
him of — spying. But he was too late ; the creak-
ing of the outer door betrayed him. At least
this was the opinion taken up by Mr. Martin,
later, when Selina told the whole truth to him,
under the seal of secrecy.

But Mrs. Edwin Barley was kneeling before

86 ANNE HEREFORD.

the fire in the drawing-room, with her dripping
hair; and I standing by her, looking on; and
that first terrible night was not over.

" Selina, why did yon stay ont in the wet
fog?"

" I was looking for him, I tell yon, Anne/''

"But yon had nothing on. You might have
caught your death, Duff said."

u And what if I had ?" she sharply interrupted.
Xi Fd as soon die as live."

It was one of her customary random retorts,
meaning nothing. Before more was said, strange
footsteps and voices were heard on the stairs.
Selina started up, and looked at herself in the
glass.

" I can't let them see me like this," she mut-
tered, clutching her drooping hair. " You wait
here, Anne."

Darting to the side-door she had spoken of as
leading to her bedroom, she pulled it open with
a wrench, as if a bolt had given way, and dis-
appeared, leaving me standing on the hearth-

CHAPTER IV.

VERY ILL.

He who first entered the room was a gentleman
of middle age and size. His complexion was
healthy and ruddy ; his short dark hair, sprinkled
with gray, was combed down upon the forehead ;
his countenance was good-natured and simple.
This was Mr. Barley of the Oaks. Not the
least resemblance did he bear to his brother.
Following him was one in an official dress, who
was probably superior to a common policeman,
for his manners were good, and Mr. Barley called
him " Sir." It was not the same who had been
in the hall.

" Oh, this — this must be the little girl," ob-
served Mr. Barley. " Are you Mrs. Edwin's
niece, my dear — Miss Hereford Vs

" Yes, sir."

<( Do you know where she is ?"

88 ANNE HEREFORD.

" In her bedroom, T think, sir."

It had transpired that a quarrel had taken place
the previous Friday between Mr. Heneage and
Philip King ; and the officer had now been in the
kitchen to question Jemima. Jemima disclaimed
all knowledge of the affair, beyond the fact that
she had heard of it from little Miss Hereford,
whom she saw on the stairs, crying and frightened.
He had now come to question me.

" Now, my little maid, try and recollect," said
the officer, drawing me to him. " What did they
quarrel about ?"

" I don't know, sir," I answered. And I
spoke the literal truth, for I had not understood
at the time.

" Can you not recollect ?"

" I can recollect," I said, looking at him, and
feeling that I did not shrink from him, though
he was a policeman. " Mr. King seemed to have
done something wrong, for Mr. Heneage was
angry with him, and called him a spy; but I
did not know what it was that he had done. I
was too frightened to listen ; I ran out of the
room."

ANNE HEREFORD. 89

" Then you did not hear what the quarrel
was about?"

" I did not understand, sir. Except that
they said that Mr. King was mean, and a

spy-"

" They [" he repeated, catching me up quickly ;
" who else was in the room ?"

" My Aunt Selina."

" Then she took Mr. Heneage's part ?"

" Yes, sir."

" How did the quarrel end ? Amicably, or in
evil feeling V

" I don't know, sir. I went away, and stayed
in my bedroom."

" My sister-in-law, Mrs. Edwin, may be able
to tell you more about it, as she was present."
interposed Mr. Barley.

" 1 dare say she can," was the officer's reply.
" It seems a curious thing altogether — that two
gentlemen should be visiting at a house, and one
should shoot the other. How long had they
been staying here ?"

" Let's see," said Mr. Barley, rubbing his
forefinger upon his forehead. " It must be a

90 ANNE HEREFORD.

month, I fancy, sir, since they came. Heneage
was here first ; some days before Philip."

" Were they acquainted previously V

" I — think — not," said Mr. Barley, speaking
Avith hesitation. " Heneage was here on a short
visit in the middle of the summer, but not
Philip : whereas Philip was here at Easter, and the
other was not. No, sir,, I believe they were not
acquainted before, but my brother can tell you."

" Who is this Mr. Heneage ?"

" Don't you know ? He is the son of the
member for Wexborough. Oh, he is of very
good family — -very. A sad blow it will be for
them, if things turn out as black as they look.
Will he get clear off, think you ?"

" You may depend upon it, he would not have
got off far, but for this confounded fog that has
come on," warmly replied the police-officer.
" We shall have him to-morrow, no doubt."

" I never hardly saw such a fog at this time
of year," observed Mr. Barley. " I couldn't see
a yard before me as I came along. Upon my
word, it almost seems as if it had come on
purpose to screen him."

ANNE HEREFORD. 91

" Was he a pleasant man, this Heneage ?"

" One of the nicest fellows you ever met, sir/'
was Mr. Barley's impulsive reply. " The last
week or two Edwin seems to have taken some
spite against him j I don't know what was up
between them, for my part : but I liked Heneage,
what I saw of him, and thought him an uncom-
mon good fellow. Mrs. Edwin Barley has
known him a long while ; my brother only
recently. They all met in London last
spring."

" Heneage derives no benefit in any way, by
property or otherwise, from his death ?" observed
the policeman, speaking half as a question, half
as a soliloquy.

" It's not likely, sir. The only person to bene-
fit is my brother. He comes in for it all."

The officer raised his eyes. "Your brother
comes in for young King's fortune, Mr. Barley ?"

" Yes, he does. And I'll be bound he never
gave a thought to the inheriting of it. How
should he, from a young and hearty lad like
Philip ? Edwin has croaked over Philip's health
of late, said he was consumptive, and going the

92 ANNE HEREFORD.

way of his brother Reginald ; but I saw nothing
amiss with Philip."

" May I ask why you don't inherit, Mr. Barley,
being the eldest brother?"

" He was no blood relation to me. My father
married twice , I was the son of the first wife ;
Edwin of the second; and Philip King's father
and Edwin's mother were cousins. Philip had
no male relative living but my brother, therefore
he comes in for the estate."

Mrs. Edwin Barley appeared at the door, and
paused there, as if listening to the conclusion of
the last sentence. Mr. Barley turned and saw
her, and she came forward. She had twisted up
her damp hair, and thrown on a shawl of white
China crape. Her eyes were brilliant, her cheeks
carmine — beautiful she looked altogether.

The officer questioned her as to the cause of
the quarrel which she had been present at, but
she would give him no satisfactory answer. She
" could not remember ;" " Philip King was in
the wrong, she knew that ;" " the officer must
excuse her talking, for her head ached, and her
brain felt confused." Such was the substance —

ANNE HEREFORD. 93

all, in fact, that lie could get from her. He
bowed and withdrew, and Mr. Barley followed
him down stairs, Selina bolting the door after
them.

"Now, Anne, I must have a little conversa-
tion with you," she said, drawing me to her as
she sat on the low ottoman. And I could see
that she shivered still. She proceeded to ques-
tion me of what had occurred after I left her at
the summer-house. I told her ; and had got to
where Philip King wTas shot, when she in-
terrupted.

" Good heavens, child ! you saw him shot ?"
" I heard the noise, and saw him fall. It
seemed to come from the spot where he had been
gazing."

" Did you see who did it ?" she asked, scarcely

above her breath.

. "No."

" Then you saw no one about but Philip King?"

" I saw Mr. Edwin Barley. He was near

the spot from whence the shot seemed to come,

looking through the trees and standing still, as

if he wondered what could be amiss. For, oh,

94 ANNE HEREFORD.

Selina ! Philip King's scream was dreadful, and
must have been heard a long way."

My aunt caught hold of my arm in a sort
of fright. " Anne ! what do you say ? You saw
Edwin Barley at that spot ! Not Mr. Heneage ?"

" I did not see Mr. Heneage at all then. I
saw only Mr. Edwin Barley. He came up to
Philip King, asking what was the matter."

" Had he his gun with him — Edwin.
Barley0"

" Yes, he was carrying it."

She dropped my arm, and sat quite still,
shrinking as if some blow had struck her. Two
or three minutes passed before she spoke again.

" Go on, Anne. What next ? Tell me all that
passed, for I suppose you heard." And I re-
lated what I knew, word for word.

" You hare not told me all, Anne."

" Yes, I have."

(: Did not Philip King say that Mr. Heneage
had raised his gun, aimed at him, and fired ? —
that he saw him do it ?"

"He did not, aunt. He only said what I
have told you."

ANNE HEREFORD. 95

"Lie the first!" she exclaimed, lifting her
hand and letting it fall passionately. "Then
yon never saw Mr. Heneage?"

a I saw him later." And I went on to tell
her of the meeting him through my taking the
wrong turning. I told her all : how he looked
like one in mortal fright ; what he said ; and of
my asking him whether he had done it.

" Well ?" she feverishly interrupted. " Well ?"

" He quite denied it," I answered, repeating
to her exactly the words Mr. Heneage had
said.

" You say he looked scared — confused ?"

" Yes, very much so."

« And Mr. Edwin Barley— did he ?"

" Not at all. He looked just as he always
looks. He seemed to he surprised, and very
sorry; his voice, when he spoke to Philip King,
was kinder than I ever heard it."

Another pause. She seemed to be thinking.

" I can hardly understand where it was you
saw George Heneage, Anne ; you must show
me, to-morrow. Was it on the same side from
which the shot came ?"

9G ANNE HEREFORD.

" Yes ; I think near to the place. Or how
could he have heard Mr. Barley speak to me V

" How long had you been in the wood when
the shot was fired V

" About ten minutes or a quarter of an
hour."

" Little girls compute time differently from
grown people, Anne. A few minutes might
seem like a quarter of an hour to you."

" Mamma taught me how differently time
appears to pass, according to what we may be
doing, Aunt Selina. That when we are plea-
santly occupied, it seems to fly; and when we
are impatient for it to go on, or in any suspense
or fear, it does not seem to move. I think I
have learnt to be pretty exact, aud I do believe
that I was in the wood nearly a quarter of an
hour. I was running about for some time, look-
ing for Mr. Heneage, as you told me, before I
found I had lost myself. And then I was some
minutes getting over the fright. I had said my
prayers, and "

" You had — what ?"

" I was much alarmed ; I thought I might

ANNE HEREFORD. 97

have to stay in the wood until morning, and I
could only pray to God to protect me : I knew
that harm would not come to me then. It
must have been a quarter of an hour in all : so
you see Mr. Heneage did not do it in the heat
of passion, in running after him : he must have
done it deliberately ."

" I don't care/" she repeated to herself, in a
sort of defiant voice; " I know George Heneage
did not wilfully shoot Philip King. If he did do
it, it was an accident ; but I don't believe he did/'

" If he did not, why did he hide in the wood,
and look as if he had done something wrong,
Selina? Why did he not go boldly up, and see
what was amiss with Philip King, as Mr. Edwin
Barley did ?"

" There is no accounting for what people do
in these moments of confusion and terror : some
act in one way, some in another," she said,
slowly. " Anne, I don't like to speak out
openly to you — what I fear and what I don't
fear. It was imperative upon George Heneage
to hasten home — and he may not have believed
that Philip King was really dead."

vol. i. 7

ANNE HEREFORD.

" But, Selina-

" Go ! go ! lie down there," she said, drawing
me to the distant sofa, and pushing me on it,
with the pillow over my head. " You are asleep,
mind ! He might think I had been tutoring

you."

So sudden and unexpected was the movement,
I could only obey, and lie still. Selina un-
bolted the door, and was back in her seat before
Mr. Edwin Barley entered the room.

" Are you coming down to dinner, Selina ?"

" Dinner ! It is well for you that you can eat
it/'' was her answer. " You must dine without
me to-day — those who dine at all. Now, don't
disturb that sleeping child, Mr. Barley 1 I was
just going to send her to bed."

"It might do you more good to eat dinner
than to roam about in a night-fog/'' was Mr.
Edwin Barley's rejoinder. " It is rather curious
you should choose such a night as this to be out,
half-naked."

"Not curious," she said, coldly: "very
natural."

<( Very ! Especially that you should be tearing

ANNE HEREFORD. 9(J

up and down the wood paths, like a mad woman.
Others saw yon as well as myself, and are
speaking of it."

" Let them speak."

" But for what purpose were yon there ?"

" I was looking for George Heneage. There !
you may make the most of it."

« Did you find him ?"

" No. I wish I had : / wish I had. I should
have learnt from him the truth of this night's
business; for the truth, as I believe, has not
come to light yet."

" What do you suppose to be the truth ?" he
returned, in a tone of surprise ; whether natural,
or assumed, who could say ?

" No matter — no matter now : it is something
that I scarcely dare to glance at. Better, even,
that Heneage had done it, than — than — what I
am thinking of. My head is confused to-night,"
she broke off; " my mind unhinged — hardly sane.
You had better leave me, Mr. Barley."

" You had better come and eat a bit of
dinner," he said, roughly, but not unkindly.
u None of us can touch much, I dare say, but

7—2

100 ANNE HEREFORD.

we are going to sit down. William is staying,
and so is Martin. Won't you come and try to
take a bit ? Or shall I send you something up ?"

" It would be of no use."

Mr. Edwin Barley looked at her : she was
shivering outwardly and inwardly. I could just
see out under the corner of the cushion.

"You have caught a violent cold, Selina.
How could you think of going out ?"

" I will tell you/' she added, in a more conci-
liating spirit. " I went out because you went.
To prevent any encounter between you and
George Heneage, — I mean any violence. After
that, I stayed looking for him."

" You need not have feared violence from me.
I should have handed him over to the police,
nothing more."

There was a mocking sound in his voice as he
spoke. Selina sat down and put her feet on the
fender.

"I hate to dine without somebody at the
tabVs head," Mr. Edwin Barley said, turning to
the door. " If you will not come, I shall ask
Charlotte Delves to sit down."

ANNE HEREFORD. 101

" It is nothing to me who sits down when I
am not there."

He departed with the ungracious reply ringing
in his ears : and ungracious I felt it to be. She
bolted the door again, and pulled the blue velvet
cushion off my head.

u Are you smother ed, child ? Get up. Now,
mark me : you must not say a word to Mr.
Edwin Barley of what happened at the summer-
house. Do not mention it at all — to him, or to
any one else/''

" But suppose I am asked, Selina V*

" How can you be asked. Philip King is gone,
poor fellow; George Heneage is not here, and
who else is there to ask you ? You surely have not
spoken of it already?" she continued, in a tone
of alarm.

I had not spoken of it to any one, and told
her so. Jemima had questioned me as to the
cause of my terror, when I ran in from the wood,
and I said I had heard a shot and a scream ; I
had not courage to say more.

" That's well," said Selina.

She sent me to rest, ordering Jemima to

102 ANNE HEREFORD.

stay by me until I was asleep. " The child may
feel nervous/' she remarked to her, in an under-
tone, but the words reached me. And I suppose
Jemima felt nervous, for one of the other maids
came too.

The night passed ; the morning came, Sunday,
and with it illness for Mrs. Edwin Barley. I
gathered from Jemima's conversation while she
was dressing me, that Selina had slept alone :
Mr. Edwin Barley, with his brother ,and some
more gentlemen, had been out a great part of the
night looking for George Heneage. It was so
near morning when they got back that he would
not go to his wife's room for fear of disturbing
her.

I ran in when I went downstairs. She lay
in bed, and her voice, as she spoke to me, did
not sound like her own.

" Are you ill, Selina ? Why do you speak so
hoarsely V*

" I feel very ill, Anne. My throat is bad —
or my chest, I can scarcely tell which : perhaps
it is both. Go down stairs, and send Miss
Delves to me."

ANNE HEREFORD. 103

I have said that I was an imaginative, thought-
ful, excitable child, and as I hastened to obey
her, one sole recollection (I could have said fear)
kept running through my brain. It was the
oracular observation made by Duff, relating to his
mistress and the fog : " It's enough to give her
her death \" Suppose she had caught her death ?
My fingers, fastening my narrow waist-band,
trembled at the thought.

The first thing I saw when I went down was a
large high screen of many folds, raised across the
hall, shutting out part of it from view. It
seemed to strike me back with fear. Sarah was
coming out of the dining-room with a duster in
her hand : it was early yet. I caught hold of
her gown.

" Sarah, what is behind there V9

" The same that was last night, miss," she
answered. u Nothing is to be moved until the
coroner has come."

" Have they taken Mr. Heneage ?"

" Not that I have heard of, miss. One of the
police was in just now, and he told Miss Delves
there was no news."

104 ANNE HEREFORD.

" I want to find Miss Delves. Where is

she r

" In masters study. Yon can go in. Don't
yon know which it is ? It's that room built out
at the back, half-way up the first flight of stairs.
You can see the door from here.-"

In the study sat Mr. Barley and Mr. Edwin
Barley at breakfast, Charlotte Delves serving
them. I gave her my aunt's message, but was
nearly scared out of my senses at being laid hold
of by Mr. Edwin Barley.

" Go up at once, Charlotte, and see what it
is/' he said. " How do you say, little one — that
her throat is bad ?"

" Yes, sir ; she cannot speak well."

" No wonder ; she has only herself to thank,"
he muttered, as Charlotte Delves left the room.
" The wonder would be if she were not ill."

" Why ?" asked Mr. Barley, curiously, lifting
his head.

" Oh, she got frightened last night when poor
Philip was brought in, and ran out in the fog
after me with nothing on."

He released my arm, and Mr. Barley put a

ANNE HEREFORD. 105

chair for me beside him, and gave me some
breakfast. I bad taken quite a liking to him, he
was so simple and kind. He told me he had no
little girls or boys of his own, and his "wife was
always ill, nnable to go out.

" Mrs. Edwin Barley appears exceedingly
poorly/'' said Charlotte Delves, when she returned.
" Lowe said he should be here this morning ; he
shall see her when he comes. She must have
taken cold."

Scarcely had she spoken when the surgeon
arrived. Mr. Edwin Barley went up-scairs with
him. Mr. Lowe came down alone afterwards,
and I caught a moment to speak to him when
no one was listening.

" Will my aunt Selina get well, sir V

" I do not know, my dear/'' he answered,
turning upon me his grave face. " I fear she is
going to be very ill."

Sunday came to an end ; oh, such a dull day
it had seemed ! — and Monday morning dawned.
It was Selina's birth-day : she was twenty-one.

Nothing could be heard of George Heneage.
The police scoured the country ; handbills were

106 ANNE HEREFORD.

printed,, offering a reward for his apprehension ;
no effort was left untried, but lie was not found.
Opinions were freely bandied about : some said
he must have escaped in the fog, and got off by
the railway from Nettleby, or by the other line
beyond Hallam; others thought he was lying
concealed near the spot still. Mr. Edwin Barley
was in great anger at his escape, and avowed he
would pursue him to the death.

Not on this day, but the following one,
Tuesday, Mr. Heneage's father came to the
house — a fine old gentleman, with white hair.
Mr. Lowe corrected me for calling him old, and
said he could not be much more than fifty. I
had not then the experience to know that while
young people call fifty old, those past that age
are apt to style it young. I saw him twice as
he went along the passages, but was not close to
him. He was a courteous, gentlemanly man,
but seemed bowed down with grief. It was said
he could not understand the calamity at all, and
decidedly refused to believe in his son's guilt.
If the shot had in truth proceeded from him, the
gun must have gone off by accident.

ANNE HEREFORD. 107

" Then why should he run away ?" argued
Mr. Edwin Barley.

He stayed in the house altogether but about
two hours, and had an interview with Mrs. Edwin
Barley in her bedroom before his departure.
Refreshments were laid for him, but he declined
to touch anything : I heard the servants com-
menting on it.

In the afternoon the coroner's inquest sat. It
was held in the dining-room. The chief witness
was Mr. Edwin Barley. I was not called upon,
and Selina said it was a proof that he had not
mentioned I was present at the time. You may
be sure / took care not to mention it ; neither
did she. Nothing transpired touching the en-
counter at the summer-house \ therefore the affair
appeared to the public involved in mystery.
Mr. Edwin Barley protested that it was a mys-
tery to him. He could not conceive what motive
Heneage could have had in taking Philip King's
life. Mr. Edwin Barley testified that Philip
King, in dying, had asserted he saw George
Heneage take aim and fire at him, and there was
nobody to contradict the assertion. I knew

108 ANNE HEREFORD.

Philip King had not said so much ; but no one
else knew it, save Mrs. Edwin Barley, and she
only from me. They did not require her to
appear at the inquest : it was assumed that she
knew nothing whatever about the transaction.

Charlotte Delves was called, at the request of
the jury, because Philip King had sat with her
in her parlour for half an hour the morning of
his death; but she proved that he had not
touched upon anything unpleasant, or spoken
then of George Heneage. The feeling between
them had not been good, she testified, and there
used to be bickering and disputes. "What
about ?" asked the jury ; but Miss Delves only
answered that she " could not say/-' The fact
was, Mr. Edwin Barley in his stern way had
ordered her not to bring in his wife's name.

While the inquest was sitting I stayed in
Selina's room. She seemed very restless, turn-
ing about in bed continually, and telling me to
listen how it was " going on." But I could hear
nothing, though I went often on the stairs to try.

" What was that stir just now, Anne ?" she
asked, when it was late.

ANNE HEREFORD. 109

" They called from the dining-room to have the
chandelier lighted. John went in and did it."

" Is it dark, Anne Vs

" Not dark. It is getting dark."

Dark it appeared to be in the chamber, for
the crimson silk curtains were drawn before the
large, deep bay-window, and also partially round
the bed. You could distinguish the outline of
objects, and that was all. I went close up to
the bed and looked at her; she was buried in
the pillows : that she was very ill I knew, for a
physician from Nettleby had come that morning
with Mr. Lowe.

u I think it must be over," she said, as a bustle
was heard below. " Go and see, dear."

I went half-way down the stairs in the dark.
Nobody had thought to light the hall-lamp.
Sure enough, they were pouring out of the room,
a crowd of dark figures, talking as they came,
and slowly making for the hall-door. Suddenly
I distinguished Mr. Edwin Barley coming to-
wards the stairs.

To his study, as I thought, and back went I,
not caring to encounter him. Added to my

110 ANNE HEREFORD.

childish dislike and fear of Mr. Edwin Barley,
since Saturday night another impnlse to avoid
him had been added : a dread, which I could not
divest myself of, that he might question me as to
that meeting at the summer-house, and to the
subsequent interview with George Heneage.
Selina had ordered me to be silent ; but if he
found anything out and questioned me, what
could I do ? I know that the fear was upon me
then and for a long time afterwards.

I crept swiftly back again up the stairs, and
into my aunt's room. Surely he was not coming
to it ! Those were his footsteps, and they drew
nearer : he could not have turned into his study !
No, they came on. In the impulse of the mo-
ment, I pushed behind the heavy window-curtain.
It was drawn straight across from wall to wall,
leaving a space between it and the bow of the
window nearly as large as a small room. There
were three chairs there, one in the middle of the
window and at the two sides. I sat down on one of
them, and, pulling the white blind slightly aside,
looked out at the dark figures who were then
sauntering down the avenue.

ANNE HEREFORD. Ill

"Well, it's over/' said Mr. Edwin Barley
to his wife, as he came in and shnt the
door. " And now all the work will be to find
him/'

" How has it ended V she asked.

" Wilful murder. The coroner was about to
clear the room, but the jury intimated that they
required no deliberation, and returned their
verdict at once/''

" Wilful murder against whom ?"

" Against George Heneage. Did you suppose
it was against you or me ??

There was a pause. I felt in miserable inde-
cision, knowing that I ought, in honour, to go
out and show myself, but not daring to do it.
Selina resumed, speaking as emphatically as her
inflamed throat permitted.

" I cannot believe — I never will believe — that
George Heneage was capable of committing
murder. His whole nature would rise up against
it : as his father said in this room a few hours
ago. If the shot did come from his gun, it must
have been fired inadvertently/'

" The shot did come from his gun," returned

112 ANNE HEREFORD.

Mr. Edwin Barley. "There's no riP in the
question/''

" I am aware you say so ; but it was passing
strange that you, also with your gun, should have
been upon the spot. Now, stay ! — don't put
yourself in a passion. I cannot help saying it.
I think all this suspense and uncertainty are kill-
ing me V3

Mr. Edwin Barley dragged a chair to the side
of the bed, auger in the very sound. I felt ready
to drop, lest he should see me through the slit
in the curtain.

" We will have this out, Selina. It is not the
first time you have given utterance to hints that
you ought to be ashamed of. Do you suspect
that I shot Philip King?"

His tone was so stern that, perhaps, she did
not like to say " yes" outright, and tampered
with the question.

"Not exactly that. But there's only your
word to prove that it was George Heneage. And
you know how incensed you have latterly been
against him \"

11 Who caused me to be incensed ? Why, you."

ANNE HEREFORD. 113

" There was no real cause. Were it the last
words I had to speak, Edwin" — and she burst
into tears — " were I dying, I would assert it. I
never cared for George Heneage in the way you
fancy."

" I fancy ! Had I fancied that, I should have
flung George Heneage out of my house long
ago/' was his rejoinder, spoken calmly. " But
now, hear me, Selina. It has been your plea-
sure to declare so much to me. On my part, I
declare to you that Heneage, and Heneage only,
killed Philip King. Dispossess your mind of all
dark folly. You must be insane, I think, to take
it up against your husband.5"'

" Did ycu see Heneage fire ?" she asked, after
a silence.

"No. I should have known pretty surely
that it could only be Heneage, had there been
no proof against him j but there were Philip's
dying words. Still, I did not see Heneage at
the place, and I have never said I did. I was
pushing home through the wood, and halted a
second, thinking I heard voices : it must have
been Philip talking to the child : at that very

vol. i. 8

114 ANNE HEREFORD.

moment a shot was fired close to me — close,
mind you — not two yards off; but the trees are
thick just there, and whoever fired it was hid
from my view. I was turning to search, when
Philip King's awful scream rang out, and I
pushed my head beyond the trees and saw
him in the act of falling to the ground. I
hastened to him, and the other escaped. This
is the entire truth, so far as I am cognizant
of it."

It might have been the truth ; and, again, it
might not. It was just one of those things that
depend upon the credibility of the utterer. What
little corroboration there was, certainly was on
Mr. Edwin Barley's side : only that he had
asserted more than was true of the dying words
of Philip King. If these were the simple
facts, the truth, why have added falsehood to
them?

" Heneage could have had no motive to take
the life of Philip King," argued Mrs. Edwin
Barley. "That he would have caned him, or
given him some other sound chastisement, I grant
you — and richly he deserved it, for he was the

ANNE HEREFORD. 115

cause of all the ill-feeling that had arisen in
the house — but, to kill him ! No, no \"

"And yet you would deem me capable of

itr

" I am not accusing you. But when you come
to speak of motives, I cannot help seeing that
George Heneage could have had none/''

" You have just observed that the author of
the mischief, the bad feeling which had sprung
up in the house, was Philip King ; but you are
wrong. The author was you, Selina/"

No answer. She put up one of her hot hands,
and shaded her eyes.

" I forgive you," he continued. " I am will-
ing to bury the past in silence : never to recur
to it — never henceforth to allude to it, though
the boy was my relative and ward, and I liked
him. But I would recommend you to bear this
tragical ending in mind, as a warning for the
future. I will not tolerate further folly in my
wife ; and your own sense ought to tell you that
had I been ambitious of putting somebody out of
the world, it would have been Heneage, not Philip.
Heneage has killed him, and upon his head be

8—2

116 ANNE HEREFORD.

the consequences. I will never cease my en-
deavours to bring him to the drop. I will spare
no pains, or energy, or cost, until it is accom-
plished. So help me, Heaven \"

He rose with the last solemn word, and
put the chair back in its place. On his way
to the door he turned, speaking in a softer
voice.

" Are you better this evening, Selina ?"

" Not any. It seems to me that I grow worse
with every hour."

" Fll send Lowe up to you. He is somewhere
about."

" Oh, aunt, aunt !" I said, going forward with
lifted hands and streaming eyes, as he left the
chamber, " I was here all the time ! I saw Mr.
Edwin Barley coming in, and I hid behind the
window-curtain. I never meant to be a listener :
I was afraid to come out."

She looked at me without speaking, and her
face, hot with fever, grew more flushed. She
seemed to be considering ; perhaps remembering
what had passed.

" I — I — don't think there was anything very

ANNE HEREFORD. 117

particular said, that you need care ; or, rather,
that I need/'' she said at length. "Was
there ?"

" No, Selina. Only »

u Only what, child ? Why do you hesitate V*

" You think it might have been Mr. Edwin
Barley. I wish I had not heard that."

" I said, or implied, it was as likely to have
been he as the other. Anne," she suddenly added,
" you possess thought and sense beyond your
years : what do you think ?"

" I think it was Mr. Heneage. I think so
because he has run away, and because he looked
so strangely when he was hiding. And I do not
think it was Mr. Edwin Barley. When he told
you how it occurred just now, and that it was
not he, his voice sounded as though he were speak-
ing truth."

u Oh, dear !" she moaned, u I hope it was so !
What a mercy if that Philip King had never
come near the house I"

" But, Selina, you are sorry that he is
dead ?"

" Sorry that he is dead ? Of course I am

118 ANNE HEREFORD.

sorry. "What a curious child you are ! He was
no favourite of mine ; but/" she cried, passionately
clasping her hands, " I would give all I am worth
to call him back to life."

But I could not be reconciled to what I had
done, and sobbed on heavily, until lights and Mr.
Lowe came in together.

CHAPTER V.

ANOTHER DREAM.

" If ever I heard the like of that ! one won't
be able to open one's lips next before you,
Miss Hereford. Did I say anything about
her dying, pray ? Or about your dying ? Or
my dying ? Time enough to snap me up when
I do/'

Thus spoke Jemima, with a volubility that
nearly took her breath away. She had come to
my room in the morning with the news that
Mrs. Edwin Barley was worse. I burst into
tears, and asked if she were going to die : which
brought forth the above rebuke.

" My thoughts were running upon whether we
servants should have mourning given us for young
Mr. King," resumed Jemima, as if she were bent
upon removing unpleasant impressions from my
mind. " Tsow just you make haste and dress

120 ANNE HEREFORD.

yourself, Miss Hereford — Mrs. Edwin Barley
lias been asking for you."

I made haste ; Jemima helped ; and she
ushered me to the door of the sick-room, halting
to whisper a parting word.

" Don't you begin crying again, miss. Your
aunt is no more going to die than I am/'

The first words spoken by Mrs. Edwin Barley
were a contradiction to this, curious coincident
that it may seem. She was lying very high on
the frilled white pillows, no cap on, her cheeks
hectic, and her lovely golden hair falling around
her head. A large bright fire burned in the
grate, and a small tray, with a white cloth and
cup on it, stood on the table near.

" Child/' she began, holding out her hand to
me, " I fear I am about to be taken from you."

I did not answer ; I did not cry ; all tears
seemed scared away then. It was a confirmation
of my secret, inward fears, and my face turned
white.

" "What was that you said to me about the
Keppe-Carews never dying without a warning ?
And I laughed at you ! Do you remember ?

ANNE HEREFORD. 121

Anne, I think the warning came to me last
night/'

I glanced timidly round the room. It was a
luxurious bed-chamber, costly furniture and pretty
toilette trifles everywhere. The crimson silk cur-
tains were drawn closely before the bay-window,
and I could see Selina clearly in the semi-light.

" Your mamma told you she had a dream,
Anne. Well, / have had a dream. And yet I
feel sure it was not a dream, but reality, reality.
She appeared to me last night."

" Who ? Mamma ?"

" Your mamma. The Keppe-Carew supersti-
tion is, that when one is going to die, the last
relative, whether near or distant, who has been
taken from them by death, comes again to give
them notice that their own departure is near.
Ursula was the last who went, and she came to
me in the night."

" It can't be true," I sobbed, shivering from
head to foot.

" She stood there, in the faint rays of the shaded
lamp," pursued Selina, not so much as listening
to me. " I have not really slept all night ; I

122 ANNE HEREFORD.

have been in that semi-conscious, dozing state
when the mind is awake both to dreams and to
reality, knowing not which is which. Jnst before
the clock struck two, I awoke partially from one
of these semi-dreams, and I saw yonr mamma at
the foot of the bed — a shadowy sort of figure
and face, but I knew it for Ursula's. She just
looked at me, and said, ' Selina V Then I woke
up thoroughly — the name, the sound of her well-
remembered voice ringing in my ears."

" And seeing her ?" I eagerly asked.

" No. Seeing nothing but the opening be-
tween the curtains at the foot of the bed, and
the door beyond it ; nothing more than is to be
seen now."

" Then, Selina, it was a dream after all ?"

" In one sense, yes. The world would call it
so. To me it was something more. A minute
afterwards the clock struck two, and I was as
wide awake as I am now."

The reaction came, and I burst into tears.
" Selina ! it was a dream ; it could only have
been a dream V

" I should no doubt think so, Anne, but for

ANNE HEREFORD. 123

what yon told me of your mamma's warning.
But for hearing that, I might never have remem-
bered that such a thing is said to follow the
Keppe-Carews."

What with remorse for having told her, though
charged by my mother to do it, and what with
my own fears, I could not speak for hysterical
sobbing.

" You stupid little sensitive thing !" exclaimed
Selina, with a touch of her old lightness;
" perhaps in a week's time I shall be well, and
running about out of doors with you. Go you
down to Charlotte Delves's parlour, and get your
breakfast, and then come to me again. I want
you to go on an errand for me ; but don't say so.
Mind that, Anne."

" No, no ; I'll not say it, Selina."
" Tell them to give you some honey."
They brought the honey and set out other
good things for me in Miss Delves's parlour, but
I could not eat. Charlotte Delves was very kind.
Both the doctors came up the avenue. I watched
them into the house; I heard them come down
stairs again. The physician from Nettleby

124 ANNE HEREFORD.

went straight out : Mr. Lowe came to the
parlour.

" My dear/' he said to me, " you are to go up
to Mrs. Edwin Barley/'

" Is she much worse, sir ?" I lingered to ask.

" I can hardly say how she is/' was his
answer. " We must hope for the best."

He stayed in the room himself, and shut the
door while he talked to Miss Delves. The hall-
clock struck ten as I passed under it, making me
start. The hall was clear to-day, and the window
and door stood a little open. Jemima told me
that Philip King was in a sitting-room at the
back, one that was rarely used. I ran quickly
up to Selina's chamber. Mr. Edwin Barley was
in it, to my dismay. He turned to leave it
when I went in, and put his hand kindly enough
upon my hair.

" You look pale, little one ; you should run
out of doors for a while."

His wife watched him from the room with
her strangely altered eyes, and then beckoned
to me.

" Shut the door, and bolt it, Anne." And

ANNE HEREFORD. 125

very glad I felt to do it. It was impossible to
overcome my fear of Mr. Edwin Barley.

" Do you think you could find your way to
Hallam ?"

" I dare say I could, aunt/''

" Selina, call me Selina," she impatiently in-
terposed. " Call it me to the last."

To the last !

" You remember the way you came from
Nettleby, Anne ? In going out at the gates by
the lodge, Nettleby lies on your left hand, Hallam
on your right. You understand?"

" Oh, quite."

" You have only to turn to the right, and keep
straight along the high-road ; in a short time
you come to Hallam village. The way is not at
all lonely ; cottages and houses are scattered all
along it."

'.' I am sure I could go quite easily, Selina."

" Then put your things on, and take this
note," she said, giving me a little piece of paper
twisted up, that she took from under the pillow.
" In going down Hallam-street, you will see on
the left hand a house standing by itself, with

126 ANNE HEREFORD.

( Mr. Gregg,, Attorney at Law/ on a plate on the
door. Go in, ask to see Mr. Gregg alone, and
give him that note. But mind, Anne, you are
not to speak of this to any one. Should Mr.
Edwin Barley or any one else meet you, and
inquire where you are going, say only that
you are walking out. Do you fully under-
stand?"

« Yes."

" Hide the note, so that no one sees it, and
give it into Mr. Gregg's hands. Tell him I hope
he will comprehend it, but that I was too ill to
write it more elaborately."

No one noticed me as I left the house, and I
pursued the road to Hallam, my head and
thoughts full. Suppose Mr. Edwin Barley should
meet and question me ! I knew that I should
make a poor hand at deception : besides being
naturally open, mamma had brought me up to be
so very candid and truthful. I had crushed the
note inside my glove, having no better place of
concealment — suppose he should seize my hand
and find it ! And if the gentleman I was going
to see should not be at home, what was I to do

ANNE HEREFORD. 127

then? Bring the note back to Selina, or leave
it? I ought to have asked her.

"Well, my little maid, and where are you
off to?"

The salutation proceeded from Mr. Martin,
who had come right upon me at a turning of the
road. My face grew hot as I answered him.

" I am out for a walk, sir."

" But this is rather far to come alone. You
are close upon Hallam."

" My Aunt Selina knows it, sir," I said,
trembling lest he should stop me, or order me to
walk back with him.

" Oh, very well," he answered, good-naturedly.
" How is she to-day ?"

" She is not any better, sir," I replied. And
he left me, telling me I was not to lose myself.

I came to the houses, straggling at first, but
soon contiguous to each other, as they are in
most streets. Mr. Gregg's stood alone, its plate
on the door. A young man came running out
of it as I stood hesitating whether to knock or
ring.

" If you please, is Mr. Gregg at home ?"

128 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Yes," answered he. " He is in the office.
Yon can go in if yon want him."

Opening an inner door, he showed me into a
room where there seemed to be a confused mass
of faces. In reality there might have been
three or four, but they multiplied themselves to
my timid eyes.

" A little girl wants to see Mr. Gregg/'' said
the young man.

A tall gentleman came forward, with a pale
face and gray whiskers. He said he was Mr.
Gregg, and asked what my business was.

" I want to see you by yourself, if you please,
sir."

He led the way to another room, and I took
the note out of my glove and gave it him. He
read it over — to me it appeared a long one —
looked at me, and then read it again.

" Are you Anne Hereford ?"

" Yes," I said, wondering how he knew my
name. " My aunt, Mrs. Edwin Barley, bade me
say she was too ill to write it better, but she
hoped yon would understand it."

" Is she so ill as to be in danger ?"

ANNE HEREFORD. 129

"I am afraid so."

He still looked at me; and twirled the note in
his fingers. I could see that it was written with
a pencil.

" Do you know the purport of this ?w he in-
quired, pointing to the note.

" No, sir."

"Did you not read it coming along? It was
not sealed."

" Oh, no. I did not take it out of my
glove."

"Well— tell Mrs. Edwin Barley that I per-
fectly understand, and shall immediately obey
her : tell her all will be ready by the time she
sends to me. And — stay a bit. Have you any
Christian name besides Anne?"

" My name is Anne Ursula."

" And what was your father's name ? And
what your mother's ?"

" Papa's was Thomas, and mamma's Ursula,"
I answered, wondering very much.

He wrote down the name, asked a few more
questions, and then showed me out at the street-
door, giving a parting injunction that I was not

vol. i. 9

130 ANNE HEREFORD.

to forget the words of his message to Mrs. Edwin
Barley, and not to mention abroad that I had
been to his office.

Reaching home without hindrance, I was abont
to enter the sick-room, when Miss Delves softly
called to me from the upper stairs : Mrs. Edwin
"Barley was sleeping, and mnst not be disturbed.
So I went higher up to take my things off, and
Charlotte Delves asked me into her chamber — a
very nice one, immediately over Mrs. Edwin
Barley's.

" Tread softly, my dear. If she can only
sleep, it will do her good/'

I would not tread at all, though the carpet
was thick and soft, but sat down on the first
chair. Miss Delves was changing her cap. She
wore very nice ones always.

" Miss Delves, I wish you'd please to tell me.
Do you think my aunt will get well ?"

"It is to be hoped so," was the answer.
" But Mr. Edwiu Barley is fretting himself to
fiddle-strings over it."

" Do you think she will ?"

Miss Delves was combing out her long flaxen

ANNE HEREFORD. 131

curls ; bright thick curls they were ; very smooth,
and of an exceedingly light shade. She twirled
two round her finger before she answered.

" Yes, I think she will. It is true that she is
very ill — very ; but, on the other hand, she has
youth in her favour/''

" Is she dangerously ill ?"

" No doubt. But how many people are there,
lying in danger daily, who recover ! The worst
of it is, she is so excited, so restless : the doc-
tors don't like that. It is not to be wondered
at, with this trouble in the house : she could not
have fallen ill at a more unfortunate time. I
think she has a good constitution."

" Mamma used to say that all the Carews had
that. They were in general long-lived."

Charlotte Delves looked round at me. "Your
mamma was not long-lived. She died young —
so to say."

" But mamma's illness came on first from an
accident. She was hurt in India. Oh, Miss
Delves ! can't anything be done to cure my Aunt
Selina?"

u My dear, everything will be done that it is-

9—2

132 ANNE HEREFORD.

possible to do. The doctors talk of the shock to
the system ; but, as I say, she is young. You
must not be too anxious ; it would answer no
end. Had you a nice walk this morning ?"

" Yes."

She finished her hair, and put on the pretty
cap, its rich lace lappets falling behind the curls.
Then she took up her watch and chain, and
looked out at the window as she put them round
her neck.

" Here's a policeman coming to the house ! I
wonder what he wants?"

" Has there been any news yet of George
Heneage ?"

" None," she answered. " Heneage Grange is
being watched."

" Is that where he lives ?"

" It is his father's place ?"

" And is it near to here ?"

" Oh, no. More than a hundred miles
away. The police think it not improbable that
he escaped there at once. The Grange has
been searched for him, we hear, unsuccessfully.
But the police are by no means sure that he

ANNE HEREFORD. 133

is not concealed there, and they have set a
watch;"

" Oh dear ! I hope they will not find him V}

I said it with a shudder. The finding of
George Heneage seemed to promise I knew not
what renewal of horror. Charlotte Delves turned
her eyes upon me in astonishment and reproof.

" You hope they will not find him ! You can-
not know what you are saying, Miss Hereford.
I think I would give half the good that is left in
my life to have him found — and hung. What
right had he to take that poor young man's life ?
or to bring this shocking trouble into a gentle-
man's family?"

Very true. Of course he had none.

" Mr. Edwin Barley has taken a vow to track
him out ; and he will be sure to do it, sooner or
later. We will go down, Miss Hereford."

The policeman had not come upon the busi-
ness, at all, but about some poaching matter.
Mr. Edwin Barley came out of his wife's room
as we were creeping by it. Charlotte Delves
asked if Mrs. Edwin was awake ?

" Awake ? Yes ! and in a fine excitable state,"

134 ANNE HEREFORD.

he answered, irritably. " She does not sleep
three minutes together. It is giving herself no
chance of recovery. She has got it in her head
now that she's going to die, and is sending for
Martin."

He strode down to the waiting policeman.
Charlotte Delves went into Mrs. Edwin Barley's
room, and took me. Selina's cheeks were still
hectic with fever ; her blue eyes bright and wild.

te If you would but try to calm yourself, Mrs.
Edwin Barley Vs

" I am as calm as I can expect to be/' was her
answer, given with some petulance. " My hus-
band need not talk ; he's worse than I am. He
says now the doctors are treating me wrongly,
and that he shall call in a fresh one. I suppose I
shall die between them."

" I wish I knew what would soothe you," spoke
Charlotte Delves, in a kind, pleasant voice.

" I'm very thirsty ; I've taken all the lemo-
nade ; you can fetch me up some more. Anne,
do you stay here."

Charlotte Delves took down the lemonade
waiter, and Selina drew me to her. " The

ANNE HEREFORD. ] 35

message, Anne ! — the message ! Did yon see Mr.
Gregg?"

I gave her the message as I had received it.
It was well, she said, and turned away from me
in her restlessness. Mr. Martin came in the
afternoon : and from that time he seemed to be
a great deal with Selina. A day or two passed
on, bringing no change : she continued very ill,
and George Heneage was not found.

I had another walk to Hallam on the Friday.
Philip King's funeral was to be on the Saturday,
and the walk appeared to have some connection
with that event. Selina sent no note this time,
but a mysterious message.

" See Mr. Gregg alone as before, Anne," were
the orders she gave me. " Tell him that the
funeral is fixed for eleven o'clock to-morrow
morning, and he must be at hand, and watch
his time. You can mention that I am now too
ill to write."

" Tell him — what do you say, Selina ?"

" Tell him exactly what I have told you ; he
will understand, though you do not. "Why do
you make me speak ?" she added irritably. " I

136 ANNE HEREFORD.

send you in preference to a servant on this pri-
vate business."

I discharged the commission; and, with the
exception of about one minute en my return, did
not see Selina again that day. It was said in
the household that she was a trifle better. Mr.
Edwin Barley had been as good as his word, and
a third doctor attended now, a solemn old gen-
tleman in black dress clothes and gold spectacles.
It transpired, no one but Miss Delves knowing
with what truth, that he agreed with his two
brethren in the treatment they had pursued.

Saturday morning. The house woke up to a
quiet bustle. People were going and coming,
servants were moving about and preparing, all in
a subdued decorous manner. The servants had
been put in mourning — Mr. Edwin Barley was
all in black, and Charlotte Delves rustled from
room to room in rich black silk. Philip King
had been related to her in a very distant degree.
Mrs. Edwin Barley was no worse ; better, if any-
thing, the doctors said. From what could be
gathered by us, who were not doctors, the throat
was a trifle better ; she herself weaker.

ANNE HEREFORD. 137

The funeral was late. The clocks were strik-
ing eleven as it wound down the avenue on its
way to the church, an old-fashioned little struc-
ture, situate at right angles between the house
and Hallam. In the first black chariot sat the
clergyman, Mr. Martin; then followed the hearse ;
then two mourning-coaches. In the first were
Mr. Edwin Barley, his brother, and two gentle-
men whom I did not know — they were the
mourners ; in the other were the six pall-bearers.
Some men walked in hat-bands, and the carriages
were drawn by four horses, bearing plumes.

" Is it out of sight, Anne V

The que stioner was my aunt, for it was at her
window I stood, peeping beside the blind. It
had been out of sight some minutes, I told her,
and must have passed the lodge.

" Then you go down-stairs, Anne, and open
the hall-door. Stand there until Mr. Gregg
comes ; he will have a clerk with him : bring
them up here. Do all this quietly, child. "

In five minutes Mr. Gregg came, a young
man accompanying him. I shut the hall-door
and took them upstairs. They trod so softly !

13S ANNE HEREFORD.

just as though they would avoid being heard.
Selina held out her hand to Mr. Gregg.

" How are you to-day, Mrs. Edwin Barley ?"

" They say I am better/'' she replied ; " I hope
I am. Is it quite ready?"

" Quite/'' said he, taking a parchment from
one of his pockets. iC You will hear it
read?"

" Yes ; that I may see whether you understood
my imperfect letter. I hope it is not long.
The church, you know, is not so far off; they
will be back soon/''

u It is quite short/'' Mr. Gregg replied, having
bent his ear to catch her speech, for she spoke low
and imperfectly. " Where shall my clerk wait
while I read it V

She sent us into her dressing-room, the clerk
and I, whence we could hear Mr. Gregg's voice
slowly reading something, but could not distin-
guish the words or sense ; once I caught the
name " Anne Ursula Hereford." And then we
were called in again.

" Anne, go down- stairs and find Jemima," were
the next orders. " Bring her up here."

ANNE HEREFORD. 139

" Is it to give her her medicine ?" asked
Jemima, as she followed me up- stairs.

" I don't know."

" My girl/5 began the attorney to Jemima,
" can you be discreet, and hold your tongue."

Jemima stared very much : first at seeing them
there, next at the question. She gave no
answer in her surprise, and Mrs. Edwin Barley
made a sign that she should come close to her.

" Jemima, I am sure you know that I have
been a good mistress to you, and I ask you to
render me a slight service in return. In my
present state of health, I have thought it
necessary to make my will ; to devise away the
trifle of property I possess of my own. I am
about to sign it, and you and Mr. Gregg's clerk
will witness my signature. The service I require
of you is, that you will not speak of this to any
one. Can I rely upon you ?

" Yes, ma'am, certainly you may/' replied the
servant, speaking in an earnest tone : and she
evidently meant to keep her word honestly.

"And my clerk I have answered to you for/'
put in Mr. Gregg, as he raised Mrs. Edwin

140 ANNE HEREFORD.

Barley and placed the open parchment before
her.

She signed her name, " Selina Barley;" the
clerk signed his, " William Dixon ;" and Jemima
hers, " Jemima Lea." Mr. Gregg remarked that
Jemima's writing might be read, and it was as
much as conld be said of it. She quitted the
room, and soon afterwards Mr. Gregg and his
clerk took their departure in the same quiet
manner that they had come.

I was closing the hall-door after them, when the
sound of silk, rustling up, fell on my startled
ears, and Charlotte Delves stepped into the hall
from one of the passages. She had been shut
up in her parlour.

tl Who is it that has gone out ?"

But I was already half way up to Selina's
room, and would not hear. Miss Delves opened
the door and looked after them. And at that
moment Jemima appeared. Charlotte Delves
laid hold of her, and no doubt turned her inside
out.

" Anne, my dear, if I die you are now pro-
vided for. At least "

ANNE HEREFORD. 141

M Oh, Selina ! Selina ! You cannot be going
to die !"

" Perhaps not. I hope not. Yes, I do hope
it, Anne, in spite of my fancied warning —
which, I suppose, was only a dream, after
all. My mind must have dwelt on what
you said about Ursula. If you ever relate to
me anything of the sort again, Anne, I'll beat
you.

I stood conscience-stricken. But in telling her
what I did, I had only obeyed my mother. I
like to repeat this over and over.

" At least, as well provided for as I have it in
my power to provide," she continued, just as
though there had been no interruption. " I have
left you my four thousand pounds. It is out at
good interest — five per cent. ; and I have directed
it to accumulate until you are eighteen. Then
it goes to you. This will just keep you ; just be
enough to keep you from going out as a governess.
If I live, you will have your home with me after
leaving school. Of course, that governess scheme
was all a farce ; Ursula could only have meant it
as such. The world would stare to see a go-

142 ANNE HEREFORD.

verness in a grand-daughter of Carcw of Keppe-
Carew."

The will lay on the bed. She told me to
lock it up in the opposite cabinet, taking the
keys from underneath the pillow, and I obeyed
her. By her directions, I took the cabinet key
off the bunch, locked it up alone in a drawer, and
she returned the bunch underneath her pillow. By
that time she could not speak at all. Charlotte
Delves, happening to come in, asked what she
had been doing to reduce her strength like that.

It was a miserable day after they came in
from the funeral. Mr. Edwin Barley did not
seem to know what to do with himself, and the
other people had gone home. Mr. Martin was
alone with Selina for a great portion of the after-
noon. At first I did not know he was there,
and looked in. The clergyman was kneeling
down by the bed, praying aloud. I shut the
door again, hoping they had not heard it open.
In the evening Selina appeared considerably-
better. She sat up in bed, and ate a few spoon-
fuls of arrow-root. Mr. Edwin Barley, who was
in the arm-chair near the fire, said it was poor

A:NNE HEREFORD. 143

stuff, and she ought to take either brandy or
wine, or both.

" Let me give you some in that, Selina," he
cried. And indeed he had been wanting to give
it her all along.

" I should be afraid to take it ; don't tease
me," she feebly answered, and it was astonishing
how low her voice was getting. a You know
what the doctors say, Edwin. When once the
inflammation (or whatever it is) in the throat has
passed, then I may be fed up every hour. Perhaps
they will let me begin to-morrow."

" If they don't mind, they'll keep you so low

that that we shall have to give you a bottle

of brandy a day." I think the concluding words,
after the pause, had been quite changed from
what he had been going to say, and he spoke
half-jokingly. "I know that the proper treat-
ment for you would have been stimulants. I told
Lowe so again to-day, but he would not have it.
But for one thing, I'd take the case into my own
hands, and give you a wine-glass of brandy now."

"And that one thing?" she asked, in her
scarcely perceptible voice.

144 ANNE HEREFORD.

" The doubt that I might do wrong."

Jemima appeared at the door with a candle :
it was my signal. Selina kissed me twice, and
said she should hope to get up on the morrow.
I went round to Mr. Edwin Barley.

11 Good night, sir."

" Is it your bed-time, child ? Good night."

CHAPTER VI.

DEAD !

Eight o' clock the next morning, and the church-
bells ringing out on the sunshiny air ! Every-
thing looked joyous as I drew up the blind —
kept down for a week previously. I dressed
myself, without waiting for Jemima, in my
Sunday frock with its deep crape trimmings.
The house would be open again to-day; Selina
be sitting up.

I scrambled over my dressing ; I fear I
scrambled over my prayers. Everything was
so still below I thought they had forgotten me.
Going down, I knocked at Selina^s door, and was
waiting to hear her answer, when one of the
maids came running up the stairs in a flurry. It
was Sarah.

" You cannot go in there, Miss Hereford."
" I want to see how my aunt is."

VOL. I. 10

146 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Oh, she — slie — you must not go in, miss,, I
say. Your aunt cannot see you just now;
you must please go down into Miss Delves's
parlour."

Dropping the handle of the door in obedience,
I went down a few steps. Sarah ascended to the
upper nights. But the girl's manner had alarmed
me ; and, without any thought of doing wrong,
I turned hack and softly opened the door. The
curtains were drawn closely round the bed.

" Are you worse, Selina V3

No reply came, and I feared she was worse.
Perhaps lying with leeches to her throat. I had
seen leeches to a throat once, and had never for-
gotten the sight. At that moment the appear-
ance of the room struck me as strange. It
seemed to have been put to rights. I pulled open
the curtain in full dread of the leeches.

Alas ! it was not leeches I saw ; but a still,
white face. The face of my Aunt Selina, it is
true, but — dead. I shrieked out, in my shock
of terror, and flew into the arms of Sarah, who
came running in.

"What is the matter?" exclaimed Charlotte

ANNE HEREFORD. 147

Delves, flying up to the landing where we
stood.

" Why, Miss Hereford has been in there ; and
I told her not to go Vs said Sarah, hushing my
face to her as she spoke. "Why couldn't you
listen to me, miss ?"

" I didn't know Miss Hereford was up ; she
should have waited for Jemima/'' said Charlotte
Delves, as she laid hold of me, and led me down
to her parlour.

" Oh, Miss Delves, Miss Delves, what is it ?"
I sobbed. " Is she really dead ?"

" She is dead, all too certain, my dear. But
I am very sorry you should have gone in. It is
just like Jemima's carelessness \"

"What's that? — that's like my carelessness,
Miss Delves ?" resentfully inquired Jemima, who
had come forward on hearing the noise.

"Why, your suffering this child to dress her-
self alone, and go about the house at large. One-
would think you might have been attentive this
morning, of all others."

" I went up just before eight, and she was
asleep," answered Jemima, with as pert an accent

10—2

148 ANNE HEREFORD.

as she dared to use. " Who was to imagine she'd
awake and be down so soon ?"

" Why did she die ? what killed her ?" I asked,
my sobs choking me. " Dead ! dead ! My Aunt
Selina dead I"

" She was taken worse at eleven o'clock last
night, and Mr. Lowe was sent for/' explained
Charlotte Delves. " He could do nothing, and
she died at two."

" Where was Mr. Edwin Barley ?"

" He was with her."

" Not when she was taken worse," interposed
Jemima. " I was with her alone. It was my
turn to sit up, and she had spoken quite cheer-
fully to me. Before settling myself in the arm-
chair, I went to see if she had dropped asleep.
My patience ! — my heart went pit-a-pat at the
change in her. I ran for Mr. Edwin Barley, and
he came in. Mr. Lowe was sent for : everything
was done, but she could not be saved."

I turned to Charlotte Delves in my sad dis-
tress. " She was so much better last night," I
said, imploringly. " She was getting well."

" It was a deceitful improvement," replied

ANNE HEREFORD. 149

Charlotte Delves — and she seemed really sad and
grieved. " Lowe said he could have told us so
had he been here. Mr. Edwin Barley quite flew
out at him, avowing his belief that it was the
medical treatment that had killed her.""

"And was it?" I eagerly asked, as if, the
point ascertained, it could bring her back to life.
"Do they know what she died of?"

"As to knowing, I don't think any of them
know too much," answered Charlotte Delves.
" The doctors say the disorder, together with the
shock her system had received, could not be
subdued. Mr. Edwin Barley says it could have
been, under a different treatment. Lowe tells
me now he had little hope from the first."

" And couldn't open his lips to say so !" inter-
posed Jemima. " It's just like those doctors.
The master is dreadfully cut up."

They tried to make me take some breakfast,
but I could neither eat nor drink. Jemima said
they had had theirs " ages ago." None of the
household had been to bed since the alarm.

" All I know is, that if blame lies anywhere
it is with the doctors," observed Charlotte Delves,

150 ANNE HEREFORD.

as she pressed me to eat. u Every direction they
gave was minutely followed/''

" Why did nobody fetch me down to see
her ?"

" Child; she never asked for yon ; she was
past thinking of things. And to you it would
only have been a painful sight."

"That's true/' added Jemima. " When I
looked at her, all unconcerned, I saw death in
her face. It frightened me; I can tell you. I
ran to call the master, thinking "

" Thinking what V spoke Charlotte Delves, for
Jemima had made a sudden pause.

" Nothing particular, Miss Delves. Only that
something which had happened in the day was
odd/' added Jemima, glancing significantly at
me. " The master was in his room half un-
dressed, and he came rushing after me, just as
he was. The minute he looked on her he mur-
mured that she was dying, and sent off a man for
Mr. Lowe, and another for the old doctor from
Nettleby. Lowe came at once, but the other did
not get here til] it was over. She died at two/''

Jemima would have enlarged on the details for

ANNE HEREFORD. 151

ever. I felt sick as I listened. Even now, as I
write, a sort of sickness comes over me with the
remembrance. I wandered into the hall, and was
sobbing with my head against the dining-room
door-post, not knowing any one was there, when
Mr. Edwin Barley gently unlatched the door and
looked out.

He had been weeping, as was easy to be seen.
His eyes were red — his air and manner subdued;
but my acquired fear of him was in full force,
and I would rather have gone away than been
drawn in.

" Child, don't cry so."

u I never took leave of her, sir. I did not see
her before she died."

"If weeping tears of blood would bring her
back to life, she'd be here again/'' he responded,
almost fiercely. " They have killed her between
them ; they have, Anne ; and, by heavens ! if
there was any law to touch them, they should
feel it."

u Who, sir?"

" The doctors. And precious doctors they
have proved themselves ! Why do yon tremble

152 ANNE HEREFORD.

so, child? They have not understood the dis-
order from the first : it is one requiring the
utmost possible help from stimulants ; otherwise
the system cannot battle with it. They gave
her none ; they kept her upon water, and — she is
lying there. Oh ! that I had done as it per-
petually crossed my mind to do \" he continued,
clasping his hands together in anguish ; " that I
had taken her treatment upon myself, risking
the responsibility ! She would have been living
now \"

If ever a man spoke the genuine sentiments
of his heart, Mr. Edwin Barley appeared to do so
then, and a little bit of my dislike of him sub-
sided— just a shade of it.

" I am sorry you should have come into the
house at this time, my poor child; some spell
seems to have been upon it ever since. Go now
to Charlotte Delves ; tell her I say she is to take
good care of you/''

He shut himself in again as I went away.
Oh, the restless day ! the miserable day ! That,
and the one of mamma's death remain still
upon my memory as the two sad epochs of

ANNE HEREFORD. 153

my life, standing out conspicuously in their
bitterness.

Moving about the house restlessly ; shedding
tears by turns ; leaning my head on the sofa in
Miss Delves's parlour ! She was very kind to
me ; but what was any kindness to me then ? It
seemed to me that I could never, never be happy
again. I had so loved Selina !

I wanted to see her again. It was almost as
if I had not seen her in the morning, for the
shock of surprise had startled away my senses.
I had looked upon mamma so many times
after death, that the customary dread of child-
hood at such sights lingered but little with
me. And I began to watch for an opportunity
to go in.

It came at twilight. In passing the room I
saw the door open, and supposed some of the
maids might be there. In I went bravely ; and
passed round to the far side of the bed, nearest to
the window and the fading light.

But I had not courage to draw aside the cur-
tain quite at first, and sat down for a moment in
the low chair bv the bed's head, to wait until

154 ANNE HEREFORD.

courage came. Some one else came first; and
that was Mr. Edwin Barley.

He walked slowly in, carrying a candle,
startling me nearly to sickness. His slippers
were light, and I had not heard his approach. It
must have been he who had left the door open,
probably having been to fetch the very candle in
his hand. He did not come near the bed, at
least on the side where I was, but seemed to be
searching for something ; looking about, opening
two or three drawers. I sat cowering, feeling I
had no business to be there ; my heart was in my
mouth, when he went to the door and called
Charlotte Delves.

" Where are my wife's keys?" he inquired, as
she came up.

u I do not know," was her answer ; and she
began to look about the room as he had previously
done. " They must be somewhere/''

" Not know ! But it was your place to take
possession of them, Charlotte. I want to examine
her desk; there may be directions left in it, for
all I can tell."

" I really forgot all about the keys," Charlotte

ANNE HEREFORD. 155

Delves deprecatingly said. " I will ask the women
who were here. "Why ! here they are ; in this
china basket on the mantelpiece/' she suddenly
exclaimed. " I knew they could not be far off."

Mr. Edwin Barley took the keys, and went
out, the desk under his arm. Charlotte followed
him, and closed the door. But I was too much
scared to attempt to remain ; I softly opened it,
and stole out after them, waiting against the
wall in the shade. They had halted at the turn-
ing to Mr. Barley's study, half way down the
stairs, and were talking in subdued tones.
Charlotte Delves was telling him of the lawyer's
visit on the previous day.

" I did not mention it before," she observed :
" of course, while poor Mrs. Edwin was here, it
was not my business to report to you on any-
thing she might do, and to-day has had too much
trouble in it. But there's no doubt that Gregg
was here, and a clerk with him. Little Miss
Hereford showed them out, and I suppose ad-
mitted them. It was an odd time to choose for
the visit — the hour of the funeral."

Can you imagine how terrified I felt as

156 ANNE HEREFORD.

Charlotte Delves related this ? I had done no
wrong ; I had simply obeyed the orders of Mrs.
Edwin Barley ; but it was uncertain what amount
of blame her husband might lay to my share, and
how he would punish it.

" It is strange what Gregg could be doing here
at that time with a clerk ; and in private, as you
appear to assume," said Mr. Edwin Barley.
" Could he have come by appointment, to
transact any legal business for my wife ?"

" But, if so, why should she wish it kept from
you ?" and Charlotte Delves's voice had a jealous
ring in it : jealous for the rights of her cousin,
Edwin Barley.

(t I don't know. The little girl may be able
to explain. Call her up."

Another fright for me. But the next moment
his voice countermanded the order.

" Never mind, Charlotte ; let it be. When I
want information of Anne Hereford, I'll question
her myself. And if my wife did anything, made
a will, or gave Gregg any other directions, wre
shall soon know of it."

" Made a will \" exclaimed Charlotte Delves.

ANNE HEREFORD. 157

" I should not think it likely that she would
without speaking to rne, but she could do it ;
she was of age/' replied Mr. Barley.

He went into his study with the desk, and
Charlotte Delves passed down stairs. I got into
her parlour as soon as she did ; never having seen
my dear Aunt Selina.

They took me to see her the next day, when
she was in her first coffin. She looked very
calm and peaceful ; but I think the dead, gene-
rally speaking, do look peaceful ; whether they
have died a happy death or not. A few autumn
flowers were strewed upon her flannel shroud.

In coming out of the room, my face streaming
with tears, there stood Mr. Lowe.

" Oh, sir V3 I cried, in my burst of grief,
"what made her die? Could you not have
saved her?"

" My little girl, what she really died of was
exhaustion," he answered. "The disease took hold
of her, and she could not rally from it. As to
saving her — God alone could have done that."

There was no inquest this time. The doctors
certified to some cause of death. The house was

158 ANNE HEREFORD.

more closely shut up than before; the servants
went about speaking in whispers ; deeper mourn-
ing was prepared for them. In Selina's desk a
paper had been found by Mr. Edwin Barley — a
few pencilled directions on it, should she " un-
happily die." Therefore the prevision of death
had been really upon her. She named two or
three persons whom she should wish to attend her
funeral, Mr. Gregg being one of them.

Saturday again, and another funeral ! Ever
since, even to this hour, Saturdays and funerals
have been connected together in my impressionable
mind. I had a pleasant dream early that morn-
ing. I saw Selina in bright white robes, looking
peacefully happy, saying that her sins had been
washed away by Jesus Christ, the Redeemer. I
had previously sobbed myself to sleep, hoping
that they had.

It was fixed for twelve o'clock this time. The
long procession, longer than the other one had
been, wound down the avenue. Mr. Edwin
Barley went in a coach by himself; perhaps he
did not like to be seen grieving ; three or four
coaches followed it, and some private carnages,

ANNE HEREFORD. 159

Mr. Barley's taking the lead. There was not a
dry eye amidst the household — us, who were
left at home — with the exception of Charlotte
Delves. I did not see her weep at all, then or
previously. The narrow crape tucks on her
gown were exchanged for wide ones, and some
black love-ribbon mingled with her hair. I
sobbed till they came back, sitting by myself
in the dining-room.

It was the very room they filed into, those
who entered. A formidable array , in their
sweeping scarves and hat-bands ; too formidable
for me to pass, and I shrunk into the far corner,
between the sideboard and the dumb-waiter.
But they began to leave again, only just saying
good day in a low tone to Mr. Edwin Barley,
and got into the coaches that waited. Mr.
Gregg the lawyer remained, and Mr. Barley.

" Pardon me that I stay/' observed the lawyer
to Mr. Edwin Barley ; " I am but obeying the
request of your late wife. She charged me, in
the event of her death, to stay and read the will
after the funeral."

" The will \" echoed Mr. Edwin Barley.

160 ANNE HEREFORD.

" She made a will just before she died. She
gave me instructions for it privately ; though
what her motives were for keeping it a secret, she
did not state. It was executed on the day
previous to her death."

" This is news to me;" observed Mr. Edwin
Barley. " Do you hold the will ?"

" No, T left it with her. You had better re-
main, my little girl/' the lawyer added to me,
touching my arm with his black glove as I was
essaying to quit the room. " The will concerns
you. I asked your wife, sir, if I should take
possession of it, but she preferred to keep it
herself."

" I do not know where it can have been put,
then/'' returned Mr. Edwin Barley, while his
brother lifted his head in interest. " I have
examined her desk and one or two of her
drawers where she kept papers ; but I have found
no will."

" Perhaps you did not look particularly for a
will, not knowing she had made one, and so it
may have escaped your notice, sir," suggested
the lawyer.

ANNE HEREFORD. 161

<: Pardon me ; it was the precise thing I
looked for. I heard of your visit to my wife ;
not, however, until after her death; and it
struck me that your coming might have reference
to something of the sort. But I found no will ;
only a few pencilled words on a half-sheet of
paper in her desk. Do you know where it was
put ?"

The lawyer turned to me. " Perhaps this little
lady may know/' he said. " She made one in
the room when I was with Mrs. Edwin Barley,
and may have seen afterwards where the will was
placed."

Again I felt sick with apprehension : few
children at my age have ever been so shy and
sensitive. It seemed to me that all was coming
out ; at any rate, my share in it. But I spoke
pretty bravely.

" You mean the paper that you left on my
Aunt Selina's bed, sir ? I put it in the cabinet ;
she directed me to do so."

" In the cabinet ?" repeated Mr. Edwin Barley
to me.

" Yes, sir. Just inside as you open it."
vol. i. 11

162 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Will you go with me to search for it ?" said
Mr. Edwin Barley to the lawyer. " And yon can
go into Miss Delves's parlour, Anne ; little girls
are better out of these affairs."

" Pardon me/' dissented Mr. Gregg. " Miss
Hereford, as the only interested party, had better
remain. And if she can show us where the will
is, it will save time."

Mr. Edwin Barley looked as if he meant to
object, but did not. " The child's nerves have
been unhinged/' he said to the lawyer as they
went upstairs, I and Mr. Barley following.

The key of the cabinet lay in the corner of
the drawer where I had placed it. Mr. Edwin
Barley took it from me and opened the cabinet.
But no will was to be seen.

" I did not think of looking here/' he ob-
served ; " my wife never used the cabinet to my
knowledge. There is no will here."

There was no will anywhere, apparently.
Drawers were opened ; her desk, standing now on
the drawers, was searched ; all without effect.

" It is very extraordinary," said Mr. Gregg
to him.

ANNE HEREFORD. 163

M I can only come to one conclusion — that my
•wife must have destroyed it herself. It is true
the keys were lying about for several hours sub-
sequent to her death, at anybody's command;
but who would steal a will ?"

"I do not suppose Mrs. Edwin Barley would
destroy it/' dissented Mr. Gregg. " Nothing can
be more improbable. She expressed her happi-
ness at having been able to make a will ; her
great satisfaction. Who left the keys about, sir ?"

" The blame of that lies with Charlotte Delves.
It escaped her memory to secure them, she tells
me : and in the confusion of the sudden blow, it
is not to be wondered at. But, and if the keys
were left about ? I have honest people in my
house, Mr. Gregg."

"Who benefited by the will?" asked Mr.
Barley of the Oaks, he having helped in the
search, and was now looking on with a face of
puzzled concern. " Who comes into the money,
Gregg?"

" Ay, who ?" put in Mr. Edwin Barley.

c< This little girl, Anne Ursula Hereford. Mrs.
Edwin Barley bequeathed to her the whole of

11—2

164 ANNE HEREFORD.

her money, and also her trinkets, except the
trinkets that had been your own gift to her, Mr.
Edwin Barley/'' And he proceeded to detail the
provisions of the short will. " In fact, she left
to Miss Hereford everything of value she had to
leave ; money, clothes, trinkets. It is most
strange where the will can be."

" It is more than strange," observed Mr. Edwin
Barley. " Why did she wish to make the will in
secret ?"

"I have told you, sir, that she did not say
why."

" But can you not form an idea why."

" It occurred to me that she thought you might
not like her leaving all she had away from you,
and might have feared you would interfere."

" No," he quietly said, " I should not have
done that. Every wish that she confided to me
should have been scrupulously carried out."

" Oh, but come, you know ! a big sheet of parch-
ment, sealed and inscribed, can't vanish in this
way," exclaimed Mr. Barley. " It must be some-
where in the room."

It might be, but nobody could find it. Mr.

ANNE HEREFORD. 165

Barley got quite excited and angry : Mr. Edwin
was calm throughout. Mr. Barley went to the
door, calling out for Miss Delves.

" Charlotte, come up here. Do you hear,
Charlotte ?"

She ran up quickly, evidently wondering.

" Look here/' cried Mr. Barley, " Mrs. Edwin's
will can't be found. It was left in this cabinet,
my brother is told."

" Oh, then, Mrs. Edwin did make a will ?"
was the response of Charlotte Delves.

u Yes ; but it is gone/' repeated Mr. Barley
of the Oaks.

u It cannot be gone," said Charlotte. " If the
will was left in the cabinet, there it would be now."

The old story was gone over again ; nothing
more. The will had been made, and as cer-
tainly placed there. The servants were honest,
not capable of meddling with that or anything
else. But there was no sign or symptom of a
will left.

" It is very strange," exclaimed Mr. Echvin
Barley, looking furtively from the corner of his
black eyes at most of us in succession, as if we

166 ANNE HEREFORD.

were in league against him or against the will.
" I will have the house searched throughout."

The search took place that same evening.
Himself, his brother, Mr. Gregg, and Charlotte
Delves taking part in it. Entirely without
success.

And in my busy heart there was running a
conviction all the while, that Mr. Edwin Barley
had himself made away with the will.

u Will you not act in accordance with its pro-
visions, sir ?" Mr. Gregg asked him as he was
leaving.

(t I do not think I shall/' said Mr. Edwin
Barley. u Produce the will, and every behest in
it shall be fulfilled. Failing a will, my wife's
property becomes mine, and I shall act as I please
by it."

The days went by; ten unhappy days. I
spent most of my time with Miss Delves, seeing
scarcely anything of Mr. Edwin Barley. Part
of the time he was staying at his brother's, but
now and then I met him in the passages or the
hall. He would give me a nod, and pass by.
I cannot describe my state of feeling, or how

ANNE HEREFORD. 107

miserable the house appeared to me : I was as
one unsettled in it, as one who lived in constant
discomfort, fear, and dread; though, of what, I
could not define. Jemima remarked one day
that " Miss Hereford went about moithered, like
a fish out of water/''

The will did not turn up, and probably never
would ; neither was any clue given to the mystery
of its disappearance. Meanwhile rumours of its
loss grew rife in the household and in the neigh-
bourhood : whether the lawyer talked, or Mr.
Barley of the Oaks, and thus set them afloat, was
uncertain, but it was thought to have been one or
the other. I know I had said nothing ; Charlotte
Delves said she had not ; neither, beyond doubt,
had Mr. Edwin Barley. When an acquaintance
once asked him whether the report was true, he
answered Yes, it was true so far as that Mr.
Gregg said his late wife had made a will, and it
could not be found ; but his own belief was that
she must have destroyed it again ; he could not
suspect any of the household would tamper with
its mistress's private affairs.

One day Mr. Edwin Barley called me to him.

168 ANNE HEREFORD.

I was standing by the large Michaelmas daisy
shrub, and he passed along the path.

" Are you quite sure/' he asked in his sternest
tone, but perhaps it was only a serious one,
" that you did not reopen the cabinet yourself,
and do something with the parchment V3

" I never opened it again, sir. If I had, my
aunt must have seen me. And I could not have
done so/' I added, recollecting myself, " for she
kept the bunch of keys under her pillow."

" She was the only one, though, who knew
where it was placed/' muttered Mr. Edwin
Barley to himself in allusion to me, as he
walked on.

" It's a queer start about that will !" Jemima
resentfully remarked that same night when she
was undressing me. " And I don't half like it ;
I can tell you that, Miss Hereford. They may
turn round on me next, and say I made away
with it."

" That's not likely, Jemima. The will would
not do you any good. Po you think it will ever
be found?"

u It's to be hoped it will — with all this un-

ANNE HEREFORD. 1G9

pleasantness ! I wish I had never come within
hearing of it for my part. The day old Gregg
and the young man were here, Charlotte Delves
got hold of me; pumping me on this side, pumping
me on that. Had they been up to Mrs. Edwin
Barley ? she asked : and what had their business
been with her ? She didn't get much out of me,
but it made me as cross as two sticks. It is
droll where the will can have gone ! One can't
suspect Mr. Edwin Barley of touching it ; and I
don't ; but the loss makes him all the richer.
That's the way of the world/' concluded Jemima :
" the more money one has, the more one gets
added to it. It is said that he comes into pos-
session of forty thousand pounds by the death of
Philip King."

The ten days' sojourn in the desolate house
ended, and then Charlotte Delves told me I was
going to leave it. In consequence of the death
of Selina, the trustees had assigned to Mrs.
Hemson the task of choosing a school for me.
Mrs. Hemson had fixed on one near to the town
where she resided, Dashleigh ; and I was to pass
a week at Mrs. Hemson's house before entering it.

170 ANNE HEREFORD.

On the evening previous to my departure, a
message came from Mr. Edwin Barley that I was
to go to him in the dining-room. Charlotte Delves
smoothed my hair with her fingers, and sent me
in. He was at dessert : fruit and wine were on
the table; and John set a chair for me. Mr.
Edwin Barley put some walnuts that he cracked
and a bunch of grapes on my plate.

" Will you take some wine, little girl V*

" No, thank you, sir. I have just had tea."

Presently he put a small box into my hands.
I remembered having seen it on Selina's dress-
ing-table.

" It contains a few of your Aunt Selina's
trinkets," he said. " All she brought here, ex-
cept a necklace, which is of value, and will be
forwarded, with some of her more costly clothes,
to Mrs. Hemson for you. Do you think you can
take care of these until you are of an age to wear
them ?"

" I will take great care of them, sir. I will
lock them up in the little desk mamma gave me,
and I wear the key of it round my neck."

" Mind you do take care of them," he rejoined,

ANNE HEREFORD. 171

with suppressed emotion. " If I thought you
would not, I would never give them to you. You
must treasure them always. And these things,
recollect, are of value/' he added, touching the
"box ; " they are not child's toys. Take them
upstairs, and put them in your trunk.'"

" If you please, sir, has the will heen found ?"
I waited to ask.

"It has not. Why?"

" Because, sir, you asked me if I had taken it ;
you said I was the only one who knew where it
had been put. Indeed, I would not have touched
it for anything.'''

" Be easy, little girl. I believe my wife her-
self destroyed the will : but I live in hopes of
coming to the bottom of the mystery yet. As
you have introduced the subject, you shall hear
a word upon it from me. Busybodies have given
me hints that I ought to carry out its substance
in spite of the loss. I do not think so. The
will, and what I hear connected with its making,
has angered me, look you, Anne Hereford. Had
my wife only breathed half a word to me that
she wished you to have her money, every shilling

172 ANNE HEREFORD.

should be yours. But I don't like the under-
hand work that went on in regard to it, and
shall hold it precisely as though it had never
existed. If I ever relent in your favour, it will
not be yet awhile/''

" I did not know she was going to leave me
anything, indeed, sir."

" Just so. But it was you who undertook the
communications to Gregg, it seems, and admitted
him when he came. You all acted as though I
were a common enemy ; and it has vexed me in
no measured degree. That's all, child. Take
another bunch of grapes with you."

I went away, carrying the casket and the
grapes. Jemima was packing my trunks when
I went up stairs, and she shared the grapes and
the delight of looking at the contents of the
casket : Selina's thin gold chain, and her beau-
tiful little French watch, two or three bracelets,
some rings, brooches, and a smelling-bottle,
encased in filagree gold. All these treasures
were mine. At first I gazed at them with a
mixed feeling, in which awe and sorrow held
their share ; Jemima the same : it seemed a pro-

ANNE HEREFORD. 173

fanation to rejoice over what had been so re-
cently hers : but the sorrow soon lost itself in
the moment's seduction. Jemima hung the chain
and watch round her own neck, put on all the
bracelets, thrust the largest of the rings on her
little finger, and figured off before the glass ;
while I knelt on a chair looking on in mute
admiration, anticipating the time when they
would be adorning me. Ah, my readers I
when we indeed become of an age to wear
ornaments, how poor is the pleasure they afford
then, compared to that other early anticipation !

A stern voice shouting out <c Anne Hereford V
broke the charm, startling us excessively.
Jemima tore off the ornaments, I jumped from
the chair.

" Anne, I want you," came the reiterated call.

It was from Mr. Edwin Barley. He stood at
the foot of the stairs as I ran down, my heart
beating, expecting nothing but that the precious
treasures were going to be wrested from me.
Taking my hand, he led me into the dining-
room, sat down, and held me before him.

" Anne, you are a sensible little girl," he began,

174 ANNE HEREFORD.

" and will -understand what I say to you. The
events, the tragedies which have happened in this
house since you came to it, are not pleasant,
they do not bring honour, either to the living or
the dead. Were everything that occurred to be
rigidly investigated, a large share of blame might
be cast on my wife, your Aunt Selina. It is a
reflection I would have striven to shield her
from had she lived. I would doubly shield
her now that she is dead. Will you do the
same T3

"Yes, sir; I should like to do so."
" That is right. Henceforth, when strangers
question you, you must know nothing. The
better plan will be to be wholly silent. Re-
member, child, I urge this for Selina's sake. We
know how innocent of deliberate wrong she was,
but she was careless, and people might put a
different construction on things. They might be
capable of saying that she urged Heneage to
revenge. You were present at that scene by the
summer-house, from which Heneage ran off,
and shot King. Do not ever speak of it."

I think my breath went away from me in my

ANNE HEREFORD. 175

consternation. How had Mr. Edwin Barley
learnt that ? It could only have been from
Selina.

u She sent me after Mr. Heneage, sir,, to tell
him to let Philip King alone — to command it in
his mother's nauie."

u I know. Instead of that he went and shot
him. I would keep my wife's name out of all
this; you must do the same. But that you are
a child of right feeling and of understanding
beyond your years, I should not say this to
you. Good-bye. I shall not see you in the
morning."

" Good-bye, sir/' I answered. " Thank you
for letting them all be kind to me/;

And he shook hands with me for the first
time.

CHAPTER VII.

AT MISS FENTO N S.

I must have been a very impressionable child ;
easily swayed by the opinions of those about me.
The idea conveyed to my mind by what I had
heard of Mrs. Hemson was, that she was some-
thing of an ogre with claws ; and I can truth-
fully say, I would almost as soon have been con-
signed to the care of an ogre as to hers. I felt
so all the while I was going to her.

Charlotte Delves placed me in the ladies' car-
riage at Nettleby station under charge of the
guard — just as it had been in coming. And
once more I, poor lonely little girl, was being
whirled on a railroad journey. But ah ! with
what a sad amount of experience added to my
young life !

Two o'clock was striking as the train steamed
into Dashleigh station. I was not sure at first

ANNE HEREFORD. 177

that it was Dashleigh, and in the uncertainty
did not get out. Several people were on the
platform, waiting for the passengers the train
might bring. One lady in particular attracted
my notice, a tall, fair, graceful woman, with a
sweet countenance. There was something in her
face that put me in mind of mamma. She was
looking attentively at the carriages, one after
another, when her eyes caught mine, and she
came to the door.

" I think you must be Anne/' she said, with a
bright smile, and sweet voice of kindness. " Did
you not know I should be here ? I am Mrs.
Hemson."

That Mrs. Hemson ! that the ogre with claws
my imagination had painted ! In my astonish-
ment I never spoke or stirred. The guard
came up.

" This is Dashleigh/' said he to me. " Are
you come to receive this young lady, ma'am V

Mrs. Hemson did receive me, with a warm
embrace. She saw to my laggage, and then put
me in a fly to proceed to her house. A thorough
gentlewoman was she in all ways ; a lady in ap-

vol. i. 12

178 ANNE HEREFORD.

pearance, mind, and manners. But it seemed to
me a great pnzzle how she could be so ; or, being
so, that she could have married a retail trades-
man.

Mr. Hemson was a silk-mercer and linen-
draper. It appeared to me a large, handsome
shop, containing many shopmen and customers.
The fly passed it and stopped at the private door.
We went through a wide passage and up a
handsome staircase, into large and well-furnished
sitting-rooms. My impression had been that
Mrs. Hemson lived in a hovel, or, at the best, in
some little dark sitting-room behind a shop.
Mrs. Jones, who kept the little shop where
mamma used to buy her things, had only a kit-
chen behind. Upstairs again were the nursery
and bedrooms, a very large house altogether.
There were six children, two girls who went to
school by day, two boys out at boarding-school,
and two little ones in the nursery. In the yard
behind were other rooms, occupied by the young
men engaged in the business, with whom Mrs.
Hemson appeared to have nothing whatever
to do,

ANNE HEREFORD. 179

u This is where you will sleep, Anne/'' she
said, opening the door of a chamber which had
two beds in it. " Frances and Mary sleep here,
but they can occupy the same bed while you
stay. Make haste and get your things off, ray
dear, for the dinner is ready/''

I soon went down. There was no one in the
drawing-room then, and I was looking at some
of the books on the centre table, when a gentle-
man entered : he was tall, bright, handsome ;
a far more gentlemanly man than any I had
seen at Mr. Edwin Barley's, more so than
even George Heneage. I wondered who he
could be.

" My dear little girl, I am glad you have
arrived in safety/'' he said, cordially taking my
hand. " It was a long way for them to send
you alone."

It was Mr. Hemson. How could they have
prejudiced me against him V was the first thought
that struck me. I had yet to learn that people
in our Keppe-Carew-class of life estimate trades-
people not by themselves but by their callings.
The appearance of Mrs. Hemson had surprised

12—2

180 ANNE HEREFORD.

me ; how much more, then, did that of her hus-
band ! Mrs. Jones's husband was a little mean
man, who carried out the parcels, and was given,
people said, to cheat. Since Selina mentioned
Mr. Hemson's trade to me, I had associated the
two in my mind. Well educated, good and
kind, respected in his native town, and making
money fast by fair dealing, Mr. Hemson, to my
ignorance, was a world's wonder.

" Is she not like Ursula, Frederick V exclaimed
Mrs. Hemson, holding up my chin. " You re-
member her V

He looked at me with a smile. " I scarcely
remember her. I don't think Ursula ever had
eyes like these. They are worth a king's ran-
som; and they are honest and true."

We went into the other room to dinner — a
plain dinner of roast veal and ham, and a damson
tart, all nicely cooked and served, with a well-
dressed maid- servant to wait upon us. Altoge-
ther the house seemed thoroughly well con-
ducted; a pleasant, plentiful home, and where
they certainly lived as quiet gentlepeople, not for
show, but for comfort. Mr. Hemson went down-

ANNE HEREFORD. 181

stairs after dinner, and we returned to the
drawing-room.

" Anne/" Mrs. Hemson said,, smiling at me,
" you have appeared all amaze since you came
into the house. What is the reason V

I coloured very much; but she pressed the
question.

"It is — a better house than I expected,
ma'am."

" What ! did they prejudice you against me V3
she laughed. " Did your mamma do that ?"

" Mamma told me nothing. It was my Aunt
Selina. She said you had raised a barrier be-
tween— between "

" Between myself and the Carews," she inter-
rupted, filling up the pause. " They say I lost
caste in marrying Mr. Hemson. And so I did.
But — do you like him, Anne V3

u Very, very much. He seems quite a gen-
tleman."

" He is a gentleman in all respects save one ;
but that is one which people cannot get over,
rendering it impossible for them to meet him as
an equal. Anne, when I became acquainted

132 ANNE HEREFORD.

with Mr. Hemson, I did not know he was in
trade. Not that he intentionally deceived me,
von must understand; he is a man of nice
honour, incapable of deceit ; but it fell out so.
We were in a strange place, both far away from
home, and what our relative position might be at
home never happened to be alluded to by either
of us. By the time I heard who and what he
was, a silk -mercer and linendraper, I had learnt
to value him above all else in the world. After
that, he asked me to be his wife."

fC And you agreed ?"

" My dear, I first of all sat down and counted
the cost. Before giving my answer, I calculated
which I could best give up, my position in
society as a gentlewoman and a gentleman's
daughter of long pedigree, or Frederick Hemson.
I knew that constant slights — not intentional
ones, but what I should feel as such — would be
my portion if I married him ; that I should
descend for ever in the scale of society — must
leap the great gulf which separates the gentle-
woman from the tradesman's wife. But I be-
lieved that I should find my compensation in

ANNE HEREFORD. 183

him : and I tried it. I have never repented the
step ; I find more certainly, year by year, that if I
threw away the shadow, I grasped the substance."

" Oh, but surely you are still a gentle-
woman !"

" My dear, such is not my position : I have
put myself beyond the pale of what the world
calls society. But I counted all that before-
hand, I tell you, and I put it from me bravely.
I weighed the cost well ; it has not been more
than I bargained for."

" But indeed you are a gentlewoman," I said
earnestly, the tears rising to my eyes at what I
thought injustice ; " I can see you are."

" Granted, Anne. But what if others do not
accord me the place ? I cannot visit gentle-
people or be visited by them. I am the wife of
Mr. Hemson, a retail trader. This is a cathedral
town, too; and, in such, the distinctions of
society are bowed to in an ultra degree."

" But is it right ?"

" Quite right ; perfectly right : as you will find
when you are older. If you have been gathering
from my words that I rebel at existing things,

184 ANNE HEREFORD.

you are in error. The world would not get
along -without its social distinctive marks, though
France once had a try at it."

" Yes, I know."

" I repeat, that I sat down and counted the
cost ; and I grow more willing to pay it year by
year. But, Anne, dear," and she laid her hand
impressively on my arm, u I would not recommend
my plan of action to others. It has answered in
my case, for Mr. Hemson is a man in a thousand ;
and I have dug a grave and buried my pride ;
but in nine cases out of ten it would bring un-
happiness, repentance, bickering. Nothing can
be more productive of misery generally, than an
unequal marriage."

I did not quite understand. She had said that
she was paying off the cost year by year.

"Yes, Anne. One part of the cost must
always remain — a weighty incubus. It is not
only that I have put myself beyond the pale of
my own sphere, but I have entailed it on
my children. My girls must grow up in the
state to which they are born : let them be ever
so refined, ever so well educated, a barrier lies

ANNE HEREFORD. 185

across their path : in visiting, they must be con-
fined to their father's class ; they can never ex-
pect to be sought in marriage by gentlemen.
Wealthy tradespeople, professional men, they
may stand a chance of; but gentlemen, in the
strict sense of the term, never."

" Will they feel it ?"

" No, oh no. That part of the cost is alone
mine. I have taken care not to bring them up
to views above their father's station. There are
moments when I wish I had never had children.
We cannot put away our prejudices entirely, we
Keppe-Carews, you see, Anne/' she added, with
a light laugh.

" I don't think anybody can," I said, with a
wise shake of the head.

" And now, Anne — to change the subject —
what were the details of that dreadful tragedy at
Mr. Edwin Barley's ?"

" I cannot tell them," I answered, with a
rushing colour, remembering Mr. Edwin Barley's
caution as to secrecy. Mrs. Hemson misunder-
stood the refusal.

" Poor child ! I suppose they kept particulars

1S6 ANNE HEREFORD.

from you : and it was right to do so. Could
they not save Selina ?"

" No — for she died. Mr. Edwin Barley says
he knows she was treated wrongly."

" Ill-fated Selina ! Were you with her when
she died, Anne ?"

" I was with her the night before. We
thought she was getting better, and she thought
it. She had forgotten all about the warning,
saying it must be a dream."

" About the what ?" interrupted Mrs. Hemson.

" While Selina was ill, she saw mamma. She
said the Keppe-Carews always had these warn-
ings."

" Child, be silent !" imperatively spoke Mrs.
Hemson. " How could they think of imbuing
you with their superstitions. It is all fancy."

" Mamma had the same warning, Mrs. Hem-
son. She said papa called her."

" Be quiet, I say, child !" she repeated, in a
tone of emotion. " These subjects are totally
unfit for you. Mind, Anne, that you do not
allude to them before my little girls ; and forget
them yourself."

ANNE HEREFORD . 187

" They do not frighten me. But I should not
speak of them to any one but you, Mrs. Hemson."

" Frances and Mary will be home from school
at five, and be delighted to make acquaintance
with you. You are going to school yourself next
week. Have you heard that ?"

" To a school in Dashleigh ?3

" In the suburbs. The trustees have at length
decided it, and I shall be at hand, in case of
your illness, or anything of that sort. Had your
Aunt Selina lived, you would have been placed
at Nettleby."

" Where am I to spend the holidays V

" At school. It is to Miss Fenton's that you
are going."

" Is that where Frances and Mary go ?"

"No," she answered, a smile crossing her
lips. " They would not be admitted to Miss
FentonV

" But why ?"

" Because she professes to take none but
gentlemen's daughters. My daughters, especially,
with their father living in the same town, would
not do at any price. It will be a condescension,"

188 ANNE HEREFORD.

she laughed; " that Miss Fenton allows you to
dine with us once in a while "

" Perhaps she will not take me," I breathlessly
said.

" My dear, she will be only too glad to do so.
You are the daughter of Colonel Hereford, the
granddaughter of Carew of Keppe-Carew."

And in spite of the lost caste of Mrs. Hem-
son, in spite of the shop below, I never spent a
happier week than the one I spent with her.

And now came school life ; school life that was
to continue without intermission, and did continue,
until I was eighteen years of age. Part of these
coming years were spent at Miss Fenton's ; the
rest (as I found afterwards) at a school in
France. It is very much the custom to cry
down French scholastic establishments, to con-
trast them unfavourably with English ones. They
may deserve the censure ; I do not know ; but I
can truthfully say that so far as my experience
goes, the balance is on the other side.

Miss Fenton's was a " Select Establishment,"
styling itself a first-class one. I have often won-
dered whether those less select, less expensive,

ANNE HEREFORD. 189

were not more liberal in their arrangements.
Fourteen was the number of girls professed to
be taken, but never once, during my stay, was the
school quite full. It had a name ; and there lay
the secret of its success. The teaching was good ;
the girls were brought on well : but for the com-
forts ! You shall hear of them. And I declare
that I transcribe each account faithfully.

There were nine pupils at the time I entered :
I made the tenth. Miss Fen ton, an English
teacher, a French teacher who taught German
also, and several day-masters, instructed us. Miss
Fenton herself took nothing, that I saw, but the
music ; she was about five-and-thirty, tall, thin,
and very prim.

" You will be well off there, my dear, in regard
to living," Mrs. Hemson had said to me. " Miss
Fenton tells me her pupils are treated most
liberally ; and that she keeps an excellent table.
Indeed she ought to do so, considering her
terms/''

Of course I thought I should be treated
liberally, and enjoy the benefits of the excellent
table.

190 ANNE HEREFORD.

We got there just before tea time, six o'clock.
Mrs. Hemson, acting for my trustees, had made
the negotiations with Miss Fenton ; of course she
took me to school, stayed a few minutes with Miss
Fenton, and then left me. When my things were
off, and I was back in the drawing-room, Miss
Fenton rang the bell.

" You shall join the young ladies at once,"
she said to me ; " they are about to take tea.
You have never been to school before, I think."

" No, ma'am. Mamma instructed me."

" Have the young ladies gone into the re-
fectory ?" Miss Fenton inquired, when a maid-
servant appeared.

" I suppose so, ma'am," was the answer.
** The bell has been rung for them."

" Desire Miss Linthorn to step hither."

Miss Linthorn appeared, a scholar of fifteen
or sixteen, very upright. She made a deep
curtsey as she entered.

" Take this young lady and introduce her,"
said Miss Fenton. " Her name is Hereford."

We went through some spacious, well-carpeted
passages ; their corners displaying a chaste statue>

ANNE HEREFORD. 191

or a large plant in beautiful bloom ; aud thence
into some shabby passages, uncarpeted. Nothing
could be more magnificent (in a moderate,
middle-class point of view) than the show part,
the company part of Miss Fenton's house; nothing
much more meagre than the rest.

A long, bare deal table, with the tea tray at
the top ; two plates of thick bread and butter,
very thick, and one plate of thinner ; the English
teacher pouring out the tea, the French one
seated by her side, and eight girls lower down,
that was what I saw on entering a room that
looked cold and comfortless.

Miss Linthorn, leaving me just inside the
door, walked up to the teachers and spoke.

" Miss Hereford."

* I heard there was a new girl coming in to-
day," interrupted a young lady, lifting her head,
and speaking in a rude, free tone. " "What's the
name, Linthorn ?"

" Will you have the goodness to behave as a
lady — if you can, Miss Glynn ?" interrupted the
English teacher, whose name was Dale. " That
will be your place, Miss Hereford," she added,

192 ANNE HEREFORD.

to me, indicating the end of the form on the left
side, below the rest. " Have yon taken tea V

" No, ma'am."

" Qu'elles sont impolies, ces filles Anglaises \"
said Mademoiselle Leduc, the French teacher,
with a frowning glance at Miss Glynn for her
especial benefit.

" It is the nature of school girls to be so,
mademoiselle/' pertly responded Miss Glynn.
"And I beg to remind yon that we are not under
your charge when we are out of school in the
evening ; therefore, whether we are ' impolies ' or
' polies/ it is no affair of yours."

Mademoiselle Leduc only half comprehended
the words ; it was as well she did not. Miss
Dale administered a sharp reprimand, and passed
me my tea. I stirred it, tasted it, and stirred it
again.

" Don't you like it V asked a laughing girl
next to me ; Clara Webb, they called her.

I did not like it at all, and would rather have
had milk and water. So far as flavour went, it
might have been hot water coloured, was sweetened
with brown sugar, and contained about a tea-

ANNE HEREFORD. 193

spoonful of milk. I never had any better tea,
night or morning, so long as I remained : but
school girls get used to these things. The
teachers had a little black teapot to themselves,
and their tea looked good. The plate of thin
bread-and-butter was for them.

A very handsome girl of seventeen, with
haughty eyes and still more haughty tones, craned
her neck forward and stared at me. Some of
the rest followed her example.

" That child has nothing to eat," she observed.
" Why don't you hand the bread-and-butter to
her, Webb ?"

Clara Webb presented the plate to me. It
was so thick, the bread, that I hesitated to take
it, and the butter was scraped upon it in a
niggardly fashion ; but for my experience at Miss
Fenton's I should never have thought it possible
for butter to have been spread so thin. The others
were eating it with all the appetite of hunger. The
slice was too thick to bite conveniently, so I had
to manage as well as I could, listening — how
could I avoid it ? — to a conversation the girls
began among themselves in an under tone. To

VOL. I. 13

194 ANNE HEREFORD.

hear them call each other by the surname alone
had a strange sound. It was the custom of the
school. The teachers were talking together, tak-
ing no notice of the girls.

« Hereford? Hereford?" debated the hand-
some girl, and I found her name was Tayler.
" I wonder where she comes from ¥'

" I know who I saw her with last Sunday,
when I was spending the day at home. The
Hemsons."

" What Hemsons ? Who are they ?"

" Hemsons the linendrapers."

" Hemsons the linendrapers \" echoed an in-
dignant voice, whilst I felt my own face turn to
a glowing crimson. " Wrhat absurd nonsense you
are talking, Glynn \"

" I tell you I did. I knew her face again
the moment Linthorn brought her in. She
came to church with them, and sat in their pew."

" I don't believe it," coldly exclaimed an ex-
ceedingly ugly girl, with a prominent mouth.
"As if Miss Fenton would admit that class of
people ! Glynn is playing upon our credulity ;
just as she did, do you remember, about that

ANNE HEREFORD. 195

affair of the prizes. We want some more bread-
and-butter,, Miss Dale — may we ring?"

" Yes, if you do want it/' replied Miss Dale,
turning her face from mademoiselle to speak.

" Betsey, stop a moment, I have something to
ask you V3 suddenly called out one dressed in
mourning, leaping over the form and darting
after the maid, who had come in and was depart-
ing with the plate in her hand. A whispered
colloquy ensued at the door, half in, half out of
it ; close to me, who was seated near it.

" I say, Betsey ! Do you know who the new
pupil is ?"

"Not exactly, miss. Mrs. Hemson brought
her."

11 Mrs. Hemson ! There ! Glynn said so !
Are you sure ?"

"I am quite sure, Miss Thorpe. Mrs. Hem-
son has been here several times this last week or
two ; I knew it was about a new pupil. And
when she brought her to-night, she gave me half
a crown, and told me to be kind to her. A nice
lady is Mrs. Hemson as ever I spoke to."

" I dare say she may be, for her station/-' spoke

13—2

196 ANNE HEREFORD.

Miss Thorpe, going back to her seat with a
stalk.

" I say, girls — I have been asking Betsey —
come close/'' And they all huddled their heads
together. " I thought Fd ask Betsey : she says
she does come from the Hemsons. Did you ever
know such a shame ?"

" It can't be, you know/' cried the one with
the large mouth. " Miss Fenton would not dare
to do it. Would my papa, a prebendary of the
cathedral, allow me to be placed where I could
be associated with tradespeople ?"

" Ask Betsey for yourselves," retorted Miss
Thorpe. " She says it was Mrs. Hemson who
brought her to school/''

" Nonsense about asking Betsey," said
Nancy Tayler; u ask herself. Come here,
child/'' she added, in a louder tone, beckoning
to me.

I went humbly up, behind the form, feeling
very humble indeed just then. They were nearly
all older than I, and I began again to think it
must be something sadly lowering to be connected
with the Hemsons.

ANNE HEREFORD. 197

" Are you related to Hemsons, the shop-
keepers ?"

"Yes. To Mrs. Hems on. Mamma was "

" Oh, there, that will do," she unceremoniously
interposed, with a scornful gesture. " Go back
to your seat, and don't sit too close to Miss Webb ;
she's a gentleman's daughter."

My readers, you may be slow to believe this,
but I can only say it occurred exactly as written.
I returned to my seat, a terrible feeling of mor-
tification having passed over my young life.

They never spoke to me again that evening.
There was no supper, and at half-past eight we
went up to bed ; three smallish beds were in the
room where I was to sleep, and one large one
with curtains round it. The large one was Miss
Dale's, and two of us, I found, shared each of the
smaller ones ; my bedfellow was Clara Webb.
She was a good-humoured girl, more careless
upon the point of " family" than most of the rest
seemed to be, and did not openly rebel at having
to sleep with me. Miss Dale came up for the
candle after we were in bed.

The bell rang at half-past six in the morning,

198 ANNE HEREFORD.

our signal for getting up : we had to be down by
seven. There were studies till eight, and then
breakfast — the same wretched tea, and the same
coarse bread-and-butter. At half-past eight Miss
Fenton read prayers ; and at nine the school
business commenced.

At ten mademoiselle was assembling her
German class. Seven only of the pupils learnt
it. I rose and went up with them : and was
rewarded with a stare.

" What will be the use of German to her ?"
rudely cried Miss Peacock, a tall, stout girl,
directing to me all the scorn of which a look is
capable. " I should not fancy Miss Hereford is
to learn German, Mademoiselle Leduc. It may
be as well to inquire.""

Mademoiselle Leduc looked at me, hesitated,
and then put the question to Miss Fenton, her
imperfect English sounding through the room.

" Dis new young lady, is she to learn de
German, madam ?"

Miss Fenton directed her eyes towards us.

" Miss Hereford ? Yes. Miss Hereford is to
learn everything taught in my establishment/"

ANNE HEREFORD. 199

" Oh \" said Nancy Tayler, sotto voce. " Are
you to be a governess, pray, Miss Hereford ?"

A momenta hesitation between pride and truth,
and then, with a blush of shame in my cheeks
for the hesitation, came the brave answer.

" I am to be a governess ; mamma gave the
directions in her will. What fortune she left is
to be expended upon my education, and she said
there might be no better path of life open to me.""

" That's candid, at any rate," cried Miss Pea-
cock. And so I began German.

We dined at two ; and I don't suppose but
that every girl was terribly hungry. I know I
was. With a scanty eight-o'clock breakfast,
children ought not to wait until two for the next
meal. We had to dress for dinner, which was
laid in Miss Fenton's dining-room, not in the
bare place called the refectory; Miss Fenton
dining with us and carving. It was handsomely
laid. A good deal of silver was on the table,
with napkins and finger-glasses; indeed, the
style and serving were superior. Two servants
waited : Betsey and another. The meat was roast
beef — a part of beef I had never seen ; it seemed

200 ANNE HEREFORD.

a large lump of meat and no bone. Very accept-
able looked it to us hungry school girls. We
shall have plenty now, I thought.

My plate came to me at last ; such a little
mite of meat, and three large potatoes ! I could
well have put the whole piece of meat in my
mouth at once. Did Miss Fenton fancy I dis-
liked meat ? But upon looking at the other
plates, I saw they were no better supplied than
mine was ; plenty of potatoes, but an apology
for meat.

" AVould we take more ?" Miss Fenton asked,
when we had despatched it. And the question
was invariably put by her every day ; we as in-
variably answering " Yes." The servants took
our plates up, and brought them back. I do not
believe that the whole meat combined, supplied
to all the plates in that second serving, would
have weighed two ounces. Potatoes again we
had, much as we liked, and then came a baked
rice pudding.

Miss Fenton boasted of her plentiful table.
That there was a plentiful dinner always placed
on the table was indisputable, but we did not get

ANNE HEREFORD. 201

enough of it ; we were starved in the sight of
plenty. I have seen a leg of mntton leave the
table (nay, the joints always so left the table),
when two hearty eaters might well have eaten
all there was cnt of it, and upon that the whole
thirteen had dined ! I, a woman grown now,
have seen much of this stingy, deceitful habit of
carving, not only in schools, but in some private
families. " We keep a plentiful table," many,
who have to do with the young, will say.
" Yes/' I think to myself, u but do those you
profess to feed, get helped to enough of it ?"
Sometimes, often indeed, two dishes were on the
table ; we were asked which we would take, but
never partook of both. The scanty breakfast,
this dinner, and the tea I have described,
were all the meals we had ; and this was a
" select," " first-class" establishment, where the
terms charged were high. Miss Fenton took
her supper at eight, alone, and the teachers
supped at nine in the refectory; rumours were
abroad in the school, that these suppers, or at
least Miss Fenton's, were sumptuous meals. I
know we often smelt savoury cooking at bedtime.

202 ANNE HEREFORD.

Sometimes we had pudding before meat, often
we had cold meat, sometimes hashed, often meat
pies, with a very thick crust over and under ; I do
not fancy Miss Fenton's butcher's bill could have
been a heavy one. Altogether, it recurs to me
now like a fraud : a fraud upon the parents, a
cruel wrong upon the children. A child who is
not well nourished, will not possess too much of
r ude health and strength in after-life.

That was an unhappy day to me ! How I
was despised, slighted, scorned, I cannot
adequately describe. It became so palpable as
to attract the attention of the teachers, and in
the evening they inquired into the cause.
Mademoiselle Leduc could not by any force of
reasoning be brought to comprehend it ; she was
unable to understand why I was not as good as
the rest, and why they should not deem me so ;
things are estimated so differently in France
from what they are in England.

a Bah \" said she, slightingly, giving up as
useless the trying to comprehend, " elles sont
folles, ces demoiselles/''

Miss Dale held a colloquy with one or two of

ANNE HEREFORD. 203

the elder girls, and then called me up. She
began asking me questions about my studies, what
mamma had taught me, how far I was advanced,
all in a kind, gentle way ; and she parted my
hair on my forehead, and looked into my eyes.

"Your mamma was Mrs. Hemson's sister/'
she said presently.

" Not her sister, ma'am; her cousin."

" Her cousin, was it ?" she resumed after a
pause. " "What was your papa ? I heard Miss
Fenton say you were an orphan."

"Papa?"

" I mean, in what position ? — was he in
trade?"

" He was an officer in her Majesty's service.
Colonel Hereford."

" Colonel Hereford ?" she returned, looking
at me as though she wondered whether I was in
error. {e Are you sure ?"

" Quite sure, Miss Dale. Mamma was Miss
Carew of Keppe-Carew."

" Miss Carew of Keppe-Carew !" she cx-
cl aimed, with a little scream of surprise ; for the
Keppe-Carews were of note in the world.

204 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Mrs. Hemson was a Keppe-Carew also/' I
continued. " She forfeited her position to
many Mr. Hemson ; and she says she has not
repented it."

Miss Dale paused ; said she remembered to
have heard the noise it made when a Miss Carew,
of Keppe-Carew, quitted her home for a trades-
man's; but had never known that it related to
Mrs. Hemson.

li I was a stranger to Dashleigh until I came
here as teacher/' she observed, beckoning up
the two young ladies, Miss Tayler and Miss
Peacock.

" AThen next you young ladies take a pre-
judice against a new pupil, it may be as well to
make sure first of all of your grounds/' she said
to them, her tone sarcastic. " You have been
sending this child to Coventry on the score of
her not being your equal in point of family ; let
me tell you there's not one of you in the whole
school whose family is fit to tie the shoes of
hers. She is the daughter of Colonel Hereford,
and of Miss Carew of Keppe-Carew."

They looked blank. Some of the other girls

ANNE HEREFORD. 205

raised tlicir heads to listen. Miss Peacock and
one or two more — as I fonnd afterwards — were
but the daughters of merchants ; others of pro-
fessional men.

" She is related to the Hemsons/' spoke Miss
Peacock, defiantly. " She has acknowledged that
she is/'

" If she were related to a chimney-sweep, that
does not take from her own proper position/' re-
turned Miss Dale, angrily. " Because a member
of the Keppe-Carew family chose to forfeit her
rank and sacrifice herself for Mr. Hemson, is
Miss Hereford to be made answerable for it ?
Go away, you silly girls, and don't expose
yourselves again."

The explanation had its weight in the school,
and the tide set in for me as strenuously as it
had been against me. The avowal that I was to
be a governess appeared to be ignored or dis-
believed, and the elder girls began a system of
patronage.

" How much money have you brought, little
Anne Hereford ?"

I exhibited my purse and its three half-

206 ANNE HEREFORD.

crowns, all the money Mrs. Hemson had allowed
me to bring.

a Seven and sixpence ! That's not much. I
suppose yon would wish to act in accordance
with the custom of the school ?"

I intimated that I of course should — if I knew
what that was.

"Well, the rule is for a new girl to give a
feast to the rest. We have it in the bedroom
after Dale has been for the candle. Ten
shillings has been the sum usually spent — but I
suppose your three half-crowns must be made
sufficient; you are but a little one/''

I wished to myself that they had left me one
of the half-crowns, but could not for the world
have said it. I wrote out a list of the articles
suggested, and gave the money to one of the
servants, Betsey, to procure them ; doing all
this according to directions. Cold beef and
ham from the eating-house, rolls and butter,
penny pork pies, small German sausages, jam
tarts, and a bottle of raisin wine comprised the
list.

Betsey smuggled the things in, and conveyed

ANNE HEREFORD. 207

them to the play-room. Strict orders meanwhile
being given to me to say that I brought them
to school in my box, should the affair, by mis-
chance, be found out. It would be so cruel to
get Betsey turned out of her place, they ob-
served ; but they had held many such treats,
and never been found out yet.

Miss Dale came as usual for the candle that
night, and took it. For a few minutes we lay
still as mice, and then sprang up and admitted
the rest from their bedroom. Half a dozen wax
tapers were lighted, abstracted from the girls'
private writing-desks, and half a dozen more
were in readiness to be lighted, should the first
not hold out. And the feast began.

" Now, Anne Hereford, it's your treat, so of
course you are the one to wait upon us. You
must go to the decanter for water when we want
it, and listen at the door against eavesdroppers,
and deal out the rolls. By the way, how many
knives have come up ? Look, Peacock."

"There's only one. One knife and two
plates. Well, we'll make the counterpane or
our hands do for plates."

20S ANNE HEREFORD.

" Our hands will be best, and then we can
lick up the crumbs. Is the corkscrew there?
Who'll draw the cork of the wine?"

" Hush ! don't talk so loud; they are hardly
at supper yet down stairs/' interposed Miss
Tayler, who was the oldest girl in the school.
" Now, mind ! we'll have no dispute about what
shall be eaten first, as we had last time ; it shall
be served regularly. Beef and ham to begin
with : pork pies and sausages next ; jam tarts
last ; rolls and butter ad libitum ; water with
the feast, and the wine to finish up with. That's
the order of the day, and if any girl's not satis-
fied with it, she can retire to bed, which will
leave the more for us who are. You see that
washhand-stand, little Hereford? Take the
water-bottles there, and pour out as we want
it ; and put a taper near, or you may be giving
yourself a bath. Now then, I'll be carver."

She cut the ham into ten portions, the beef
likewise, and told me to give round a roll. Then
the rolls were cut open and buttered, various de-
vices being improvised for the latter necessity, by
those who could not wait their turn for the

ANNE HEREFORD. 209

knife ; tooth-brush handles prevailing; and fingers
not being altogether absent. Next came the de-
lightful business of eating.

u Some water^ little Hereford."
I obeyed; though it was just as I was about to
take the first bite of the feast. Laying down my
share on the counterpane; I brought the tumbler
of water.

" And now, Hereford; you must listen at the
door."

" If you please, may I take this with me V
for I had once more caught up the tantalizing
supper.

" Of course you can, little stupid Vs
I went to the door; the beef and ham doubled
up in one hand; the buttered roll in the other,
and there eat and listened. The scene would
have made a good picture. The distant bed on
which the eatables were flung; and on which the
tapers in their little bronze stands rested; and the
girls in their night-gowns gathered round; half
lounging on it; talking eagerly, eating ravenously;
enjoying themselves thoroughly; I shivering at
the door, delighted with the feast; but half-terri-
vol. i. 14

210 ANNE HEREFORD.

fied lest interruption should come from below.
That unlucky door had no fastening to it, so that
any one could come, as the girls expressed it,
bolt in. Some time previously there had been a
disturbance, because the girls one night locked
out Miss Dale, upon which Miss Fenton had car-
ried away the key.

" Our beef and ham's gone, Anne Hereford.
Is yours ?"

It was Georgina Digges who spoke, and she
half- turned round to do so, for she was leaning
forward on the bed with her back to me. I
was about to answer, when there came a shrill
scream from one of the others, a scream
of terror. It was followed by another and
another, until they were all screaming together,
and I darted in alarm to the bed. Georgina
Digges, in turning round, had let her nightgown
sleeve touch one of the wax tapers, and set it on fire.

Oh, then was confusion ! the shrieks rising
and the flames with them. With a presence of
mind perfectly astonishing in one so young,
Nancy Tayler tore up the bedside carpet and
flung it round her.

ANNE HEREFORD. 211

" Throw her down, throw her down ! it is the
only chance V Nancy screamed to the rest, and
there she was on the ground by the time those
downstairs had rushed up. Some smothered
more carpet on her, some threw a blanket, and
the cook further poured out all the water from
the wash-hand jugs.

' c Who is it V* demanded Miss Fenton, speak-
ing and looking more dead than alive.

None of us answered; we were too much
terrified; but Miss Dale, who had been taking
hurried note of our faces, said it must be Georgina
Digges : her face was the only one missing.

I wonder what Miss Fenton thought when she
saw the items of the feast as they lay on the bed !
The scanty remains of the beef and ham, the but-
tered rolls half eaten, others ready to butter, the
pork pies, the German sausages, the jam tarts,
and the bottle of wine. Did a thought cross her
that if the girls had been allowed better dinners,
they might have been less eager for stolen suppers?
She had probably been disturbed at her good
supper, for a table napkin was tucked before her,,
underneath the string of her silk apron.

14—2

212 ANNE HEREFORD.

" You deceitful, rebellious girls lw exclaimed
Miss Fenton. "Who has beeu the ringleader
in this V

A pause,, and then a voice spoke from amidst
the huddled group of girls — whose voice I did not
know then and have never known to this day.

"The new girl, Anne Hereford. She brought
the things to school in her box."

Miss Fenton looked round for me : I was
standing quite at the back. I had not courage
to contradict the words. But just then a com-
motion arose from the group which stood round
the burnt girl, and Miss Fenton turned to it in
her sickening fear.

The doctors came, and we were consigned to
bed, Georgina Digges being taken into another
room. Happily, she was found not to be dan-
gerously burnt, badly on the arm and shoulder,
but no further.

Of course there was a great trouble in the
morning. Mrs. Hemson was sent for, and to her
I told the truth, which I had not dared to tell to
Miss Fenton. The two ladies had afterwards an
interview alone, in which I felt sure Mrs. Hem-

ANNE HEREFORD. 213

son repeated every word I had spoken. Nothing
more was said to me. Miss Fenton made a speech
in the school, beginning with a reproach at their
taking a yonng child's money from her, and going
on to the enormity of our offence in " sitting up
at night to gormandize " (apologizing for the
broad word), which she forbad absolutely for the
future.

Thus the affair ended. Georgina Digges re-
covered, and joined us in the school-room : and
she was not taken away, though we had thought
she would be. But, in spite of the accident
and Miss Fenton's prohibition, the feasts at night
did go on, as often as a new girl came to be made
to furnish one, or when the school subscribed a
shilling each, and constituted it a joint affair.
One little wax taper did duty in future, and that
was placed on the mantelpiece, out of harm's way.

And that is all I shall have to say of my
school-life in England.

CHAPTER VIIL

EMILY CHANDOS.

In the gray dawn of an August morning, I stood
on a steamer that was about to clear out from
alongside one of the wharves near London Bridge.
It was bound for a seaport town in France.
Scarcely dawn yet, the night- clouds still hung
upon the earth, but light was breaking in the
eastern horizon. The passengers were coming
on board — not many ; it did not appear that the
boat would have much of a freight that day. I
heard one of the seamen say so ; / knew nothing
about it ; and the scene was as new to me as the
world is to a bird, flying for the first time from
a cage where it has been hatched and reared.

I was fifteen, and had left Miss Fenton's for
good ; thoroughly well-educated, so far. And
now they were sending me to a school in France
to finish.

ANNE HEREFORD. 215

I will not say precisely where this school was
situated : there are reasons against it ; but what
little record I give of the establishment shall be
true and faithful. It was not at Boulogne or at
Calais, those renowned seaports, inundated with
Anglo- French schools ; neither was it in Paris or
Brussels, or at Dieppe. We can call the town
Nulle, and that's near enough. It was kept by
two ladies, sisters, the Demoiselles Barlieu.
The negotiations had been made by my trustees
and Mrs. Hemson had brought me to London,
down to the steamer on this early morning, and
was now consigning me to the care of Miss
Barlieu's English governess, whom we had met
there by appointment. She was a very plain
young person, carrying no authority in appear-
ance, and looking not much like a lady. Authority,
as I found, she would have little in the school ;
she was engaged to teach English, and there her
duties ended.

" You had better secure a berth and lie
down/'' she said to me. " The night has been
cold and it is scarcely light enough yet to be on
deck."

216 ANNE HEREFORD.

u Any ladies for shore ?" cried a rough voice
at the cabin door.

" Shore \" echoed Miss Johnstone, in what
seemed alarm. " You are surely not going to
start yet ! I am waiting for another young
lady."

" It won't be more than five minutes now,
mum."

u A pupil ?" I asked her.

" I believe so. Mademoiselle Barlieu wrote
to me that two "

" Any lady here of the name of Johnstone V9

The inquiry came from a middle-aged, quiet-
looking person, who was glancing in at the cabin
door. By her side stood a most elegant girl of
seventeen, perhaps eighteen, her eyes blue, her
face brilliantly fair, her dress handsome.

" I am Miss J ohnstone," said the teacher, ad-
vancing.

" What a relief ! The steward thought no
governess had come on board, and I must not
have dared to send Miss Chandos alone. My
lady "

" You would, Plill ; so don't talk nonsense/''

ANNE HEREFORD. 217

interrupted the young lady, with a laugh, as she
threw up her white veil, and brought her beauty
right underneath the cabin lamp. " Would the
fishes have swallowed me up any the quicker for
not being in somebody's charge ? Unfasten my
cloak, Hill."

" This young lady is Miss Chandos, ma'am,"
said the person addressed as " Hill," presenting
the beautiful girl to Miss Johnstone. " Please
take every care of her in going across."

The young lady wheeled round. " Are you
our new English teacher ??

" I am engaged as English governess at
Mademoiselle Barlieu's/' replied Miss Johnstone,
who had not at all a pleasant manner of speak-
ing. " She wrote word to me that I might
expect Miss Chandos and Miss Hereford on
board."

" Miss Hereford !" was the quick response.
" Who is she ?"

But by that time I was lying down on
the berth, and the rough voice again inter-
rupted.

"Any lady as is for shore had better look

218 ANNE HEREFORD.

sharp, unless they'd like to be took off to t'other
side the Channel/'

" What fun, Hill, if they should take you
off!" laughed Miss Chandos, as the former
started up with trepidation. " X ow don't
stumble overboard in your haste to get off the
boat."

" Good-bye to you, Miss Emily, and a pleasant
journey ! You won't fail to write as soon as
you arrive : my lady will be anxious."

" Oh, I will gladden mamma's heart with a
letter, or she may be thinking the bottom of the
steamer has come out," lightly returned Miss
Chandos. " Mind, Hill, that you give my love
to Mr. Harry when he gets home."

Those who were for shore went on shore, and
soon we were in all the bustle and noise of de-
parture. Miss Chandos stood by the small round
table, looking in the hanging-glass, and turning
her shining golden ringlets round her fingers. On
one of those fingers was a ring, whose fine large
stones formed a hearts- ease : two were yellow
topaz, the other three dark amethyst : the whole
beautiful.

ANNE HEREFORD. 219

" May I suggest that you should li c down.
Miss Chandos ?" said our governess for the time
being. " You will find the benefit of doing so."

" Have you crossed the Channel many times V
was the reply of Miss Chandos, as she coolly pro-
ceeded with her hair : and her tone to Miss John-
stone was a patronizing one.

" Only twice ; to France and home again."

1 { And I have crossed it a dozen times at least,
between school and Continental voyages with
mamma, so you cannot teach me much in that
respect. I can assure you there's nothing more
disagreeable than to be stewed in one of these
suffocating berths. When we leave the river,
should it prove a rough sea, well and good ; but
I don't put myself in a berth until then."

" Have you been long with the Miss Barlicus ?"
inquired Miss Johnstone of her.

" Two dismal years. But I have outlived the
dismality now — if you will allow me to coin a
word. Mamma has known the Barlicus all her
life : an aunt of theirs was her governess when
she was young : and when we were returning
home from Italy, mamma went to the place and

2 20 ANNE HEREFORD.

left me there, instead of taking me on to Eng-
land. Was I not rebellious over it ! for three
months I planned, every day, to run away on
the next."

" But yon did not ?" I spoke up from my berth,
greatly interested.

Miss Chandos turned round and looked at me.
" No," she laughed, " it was never accomplished.
I believe the chief impediment was, the not know-
ing where to run to. Are you the Miss Here-
ford ?>

" Yes."

" ^Vhat a bit of a child you seem ! You won't
like a French school, if this is your first entrance
to one. Home comforts and French schools are
as far apart as the two poles."

" But I am not accustomed to home comforts ;
I have no home. I have been for some years at
an English school where there was little comfort
of any sort. Do your Mends live in England?
Have you a home there ?"

u A home in England V she answered, with
some surprise at the question, or at my ignorance.
" Of course : I am Miss Chandos. Chandos is

ANNE HEREFORD. 221

mamma's present residence ; though, strictly
speaking, it belongs to Sir Thomas."

All this was so much Greek to me. Perhaps
Miss Chandos saw that it was, for she laughed
gaily.

" Sir Thomas Chandos is my brother. Harry
is the other one. We thought Tom would have
retired from the army and come home when papa
died, two or three years ago ; but he still remains
in India. Mamma writes him word that he should
come home and marry, and so make himself into
a respectable man ; he sends word back that he
is respectable enough as it is/"

" Your papa was ?"

" Sir Thomas Chandos. Ah, dear ! if he
had but lived ! He was so kind to us !
Mamma is in widow's weeds yet, and always
will be V

"And who was she who brought you on
board ?"

" Hill. She is the housekeeper at Chandos.
Some one has always taken me over until this
time, generally Harry. But Harry is away, and
Miss Barlieu wrote word to mamma that the

222 ANNE HEREFORD.

English governess could bring me, so Hill was
despatched with me to town."

"What a beautiful ring that is V I exclaimed,
as the stones flashed in the lamp-light.

Her eyes fell upon it, and a blush and a smile
rose to her face. She sat down on the edge of
my berth, and twirled it over with the fingers of
her other hand.

" Yes, it is a nice ring. Let any one attempt
to give me a ring that is not a nice one ; they
would get it flung back at them/''

" Is Mademoiselle Barlieu's a large school V

"Middling. There were seventy-five last
trimestre."

" Seventy-five V I repeated, amazed at the
number.

"That includes the externes — nearly fifty of
them — with whom we have nothing to do. There
are three class-rooms : one for the elder girls, one
for the younger, and the third (it's the size almost
of the large hall at the Tribunal of Commerce)
for the externes."

" Are there many teachers ?"

" Six, including the English governess and the

ANNE HEREFORD. 223

two [Miss Barlieus ; and six masters, who are in
nearly constant attendance/''

" Altogether, do yon like being there ?"

" Yes/' she said, laughing significantly, " I
like it very well now. I am going on deck
to watch the day break ; so adieu for the
present/''

We had a rough passage ; of which I cannot
think to this day without — without wishing not to
think of it ; and late in the afternoon the steamer
was made fast to the port it was bound for. In
the midst of the bustle preparatory to landing, a
gentleman, young, vain, and good-looking, leaped
on board, braving the douaniers, who were too
late to prevent him, and warmly greeted Miss
Chandos.

" My dear Emily V

" Speak in French, Alfred/'' she said, taking
the initiative and addressing him in the language
— her damask cheeks, her dimples, and her dan-
cing eyes all being something lovely to behold.
"I have not come alone, as I thought I should.
A duenna, in the shape of the English governess,
has charge of me.-"

224 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Miss Chandos, the men are calling out that
we must land/''

The interruption came from Miss Johnstone,
who had approached, looking keenly at the gentle-
man. The latter, with scant courtesy to the gover-
ness, made no reply : he was too much occupied
in assisting Miss Chandos up the landing-steps.
Miss Chandos turned her head when she reached
the top.

" Be so good as to look in the cabin, Miss
Johnstone ; I have left a hundred things there,
odds and ends. My warm cloak is some-
where."

Miss Johnstone appeared anything but pleased.
It is not usual for pupils to order their teachers
to look after their things ; and Miss Chandos was
of somewhat imperious manner : not purposely :
it was her nature. I turned with Miss Johnstone,
and we collected together the items left by Miss
Chandos. By the time we got to the custom-
house, she had disappeared. Twenty minutes
after, when we and our luggage had been ex-
amined, we found her outside, walking to and fro
with the gentleman.

ANNE HEREFORD. 225

" Where are your boxes, Miss Cliandos V asked
Miss Johnstone.

" My boxes ? I don't know anything about
them. I gave my keys to one of the commis-
sionaires ; he will see to them. Or you can, if
you like."

" I do not imagine that it is my business
to do so," was Miss Johnstone's offended reply.
But Miss Chandos was again walking with her
companion, and paid no heed to her.

" Halloa, De Mellissie ! have you been to
England?" inquired a passing Englishman of
Miss Chandos's friend.

" Not I" he replied. " I stepped on board
the boat when it came in, so they took their re-
venge by making me go through the custom-
house and turning my pockets inside out. Much
good it did them \"

An omnibus was waiting round the corner, in
which we were finally to be conveyed to our des-
tination, Mademoiselle Barlieu's. Seated in it
was a little, stout, good-tempered dame of fifty,
Mademoiselle Caroline, the senior teacher. She.
received Miss Chandos with open arms, and a

vol. t. 15

226 ANNE HEREFORD.

kiss on each cheek. The gentleman politely
handed us by turn into the omnibus, and stood
bowing to us, bareheaded, as we drove away.

" Do you think him handsome V Miss Chandos
whispered to me, the glow on her face fading.

" Pretty well. What is his name ?"

"Alfred de Mellissie. You can be good-natured,
can't you?" she added.

« I can, if I like."

" Then be so now, and don't preach it out to
the whole school that he met me. He "

" Is that gentleman a relative of yours, Miss
Chandos ?" interrupted Miss Johnstone from the
end of the omnibus.

Miss Chandos did not like the tone or the
question : the one savoured of acrimony, the
other she resented as impertinent. She fixed
her haughty blue eyes on Miss Johnstone be-
fore she answered : they said very plainly, " By
what right do you presume to inquire of me ?"
and Miss Johnstone bit her lips at the look.

"They are not related to us. Madame de
Mellissie is an intimate friend of my mother,
Lady Chandos." And that was all she conde-

ANNE HEREFORD. 2.27

scended to say, for she turned her back and
began laughing and chattering in French "svitli
Mademoiselle Caroline.

The Miss Barlieus received us graciously ,
giving us all the same friendly greeting that the
old teacher had given only to Miss Chandos.
Two pleasant, kind-hearted maiden ladies were
they, not very young. Miss Annette confessed
to having passed thirty-five. We were their
visitors that evening, and were regaled with nice
things in their own parlour.

I said I would relate the mode of treatment
in that school. It was a superior establishment,
the terms high for France ; but they were not
much more than half the amount of Miss
Fenton's. Here they included the month's
holiday at Autumn. At Miss Fcntous the
holidays were three months in the year; and if
you stayed (as I did), extra money had to be
paid.

The dormitories were spacious and airy, a
small, separate, thoroughly clean bed being
given to each pupil. No French school can be
overcrowded, for they are under the close in-

15—2

228 ANNE HEREFORD.

spection of the Government ; and the number of
pupils to be taken is registered. A large airy
room is set apart as an infirmary, should any
fall sick.

Clang ! clang ! clang ! went the great bell
in the morning, waking us out of our sleep at
six. Dressing, practising, lessons, and prayers,
occupied the time until eight. Miss Johnstone
read prayers to the English pupils, all Pro-
testants ; Mademoiselle Caroline read them to the
French, who were Roman Catholics. For break-
fast there was as much bread and butter as we
liked to eat, and a small basin each of good rich
milk. Some of the English girls chose tea in
preference, which they were at liberty to do.
On Sunday mornings the breakfast was a treat:
coffee and pet its pains, a sort of roll. We had
them hot, two each, and a small pat of butter.
Such coffee as that we never get in England :
one-third coffee, two-thirds hot milk, and strong
then. Breakfast over (to go back to the week
days), we played till nine, and then came
studies until twelve.

The professed dinner hour was half past

ANNE HEREFORD. 229

twelve, but the cook rarely sent in before a
quarter to one. We all dined together with
Miss Barlieu and Miss Annette, at two long
tables. I remember the dinner, that first day,
as well as though I had eaten it yesterday. A
plateful of soup first, very poor, as all French
soup is ; after that the bouilli, the meat that the
soup is made of. The English at first never like
this bouilli, but in time they learn to know how
good it is, eaten with the French piquante
mustard. Sometimes carrots were served with
the bouilli, sometimes small pickled cucumbers :
this day we had cucumbers. Remembering
Miss Fenton's, I wondered if that comprised the
dinner — and, talking of Miss Feiiton's, I have
never mentioned that in her house we were not
allowed bread at dinner; here, if we could have
eaten a whole loaf, we might have had it.

It did not comprise the dinner ; there came
on some delicious roast veal and potatoes ; and
afterwards fried pancakes, with sugar. On
Sundays we sometimes had poultry, always a
second dish of vegetables, and a fruit or cream
tart. The drink was the same as at Miss

230 ANNE HEREFORD.

Fenton's, — beer or water, as might be preferred.
Four or five of the girls had wine ; but it was
cither supplied by the parents, or paid for as an
extra. It was commonly reported that in some
other schools, in the colleges especially, the soup,
the bouilli, bread and potatoes, comprised the
dinner every day, with a roast joint in addition
on Sundays.

At two o'clock came school again until four,
when we were released for half an hour, and had
each a slice of bread and butter, called collation.
Then school again until six, and supper at seven.
The suppers varied ; meat was never served, but
vegetables were often : sometimes bread and
cheese and salad ; or bread and butter, with an
egg, or with shrimps, or fried potatoes ; and tea
to drink. I think this was a more sensible mode
of living than Miss Fenton's : altogether I can
truly say that we experienced liberality and
kindness at Miss Barlieu's ; it was a far better
home than the other.

But I have not got past the first day yet. In
assorting her clothes after unpacking, Miss
Chandos missed a new velvet mantle ; there was

ANNE HEREFORD, 231

some commotion about it, and she was told that
she ought to have watched more narrowly the
visiting her trunks in the custom-house. Miss
Chandos took the loss equably, as she appeared
to do most things. " Oh, if it's lost, mamma
must send me over another/' was her careless
comment.

We were at our studies in the afternoon when
Mademoiselle Annette entered. The mode of
sitting was different here from what it had been
at Miss Fenton's. There, we sat on a hard form for
hours together without any support for the arms
or back : stooping was the inevitable consequence,
and many of the girls got a curve in the spine ;
or, as the saying ran, " grew aside." In France
we sat at a sloping desk, on which our arms
rested, so that the spine could not get fatigued :
I never once, the whole period I stayed at Miss
Barlieu's, saw a crooked girl. Mademoiselle
Annette entered and accosted Miss Chandos.

" I understand, Miss Chandos, that you did
not take any care of your boxes yourself at the
custom-house ; merely gave up your keys V*

A slight accession of colour, and Miss Chandos

232 ANNE HEREFORD.

turned round her fair bright face, acknowledging
that it was so.

" But, my dear, that was evincing great
carelessness."

" I don't see it, Mademoiselle Annette," was
Miss Chandos's smiling dissent. " What are
the commissionaires for, but to take charge of
keys, and examine baggage V

" Well, they have been up from the customs
to say that the mantle was not left there. The
commissionaire himself is here now; he says
everything taken out of your boxes was safely
put in again."

" It was a beautiful mantle, Mademoiselle
Annette, and I dare say somebody caught it up
and ran away with it when the man's attention
was turned the other way. It can't be helped :
there are worse misfortunes at sea."

" What gentleman was it that you were walk-
ing about with ?" resumed Mademoiselle Annette.

"Gentleman?" returned Miss Chandos, in a
questioning tone, as if she could not understand,
or did not remember. " Gentleman, Made-
moiselle Annette?"

ANNE HEREFORD. 233

" A gentleman who came on board to speak
to you ; and who assisted yon to land ; and with
whom you were walking about afterwards, while
the other ladies were in the custom-house ?"

" Oh, I recollect ; yes. There was a gen-
tleman who came on board : it was Monsieur
de Mellissie." Very brilliant had Miss Chandos's
cheeks become ; but she turned her face to the
desk as if anxious to continue her studies, and
Mademoiselle Barlieu saw it not.

u What took him on board ?" resumed Made-
moiselle Annette.

" As if I knew, Mademoiselle Annette \"
lightly replied the young lady. " He may have
wanted to speak to the captain — or to some of
the sailors — or to me. He did not tell me."

" But you were promenading with him after-
wards \"

" And very polite of him it was to give up
his time to promenade with me, while I was
waiting for them to come out," replied Miss
Chandos. " I returned him my thanks for it,
Mademoiselle Annette. If the new English
teacher had had a thousand boxes to clear, she

234 ANNE HEREFORD.

could not have been much longer over it. I
thought she was never coming."

" Well, my dear, do not promenade again with
Monsieur de Mellissie. It is not the right thing
for a young lady to do; and Miladi Chandos
might not be pleased that you should."

" On the contrary, Mademoiselle Annette,
mamma charged me with twenty messages to
give him, in trust for his mother," replied the
undaunted girl. " I was glad of an opportunity
of delivering them."

Mademoiselle Annette said no more. She
charged the girls as she quitted the room to get
ready their geography books, for she should re-
turn for that class in five minutes.

" I say, Emily Chandos, whatever is all that
about ?" asked a young lady, Ellen Roper.

" I don't care ! It's that new English teacher
who has been reporting ! Alfred jumped on
board as soon as we touched the side, and I stayed
with him until the omnibus was ready — or until
we were ready for the omnibus. Where was the
harm? You did not tell, Anne Hereford?"

" I have not spoken of it to any one."

ANNE HEREFORD. 235

" No ; I was sure of that : it's that precious
teacher. I did not like her before, but for this
Fll give her all the trouble I can at my English
lessons. Such folly for Mademoiselle Barlieu to
engage a girl as governess ; and she's no better.
I could teach her. She's not nice, either ; you
can't like or respect her."

" I think the Miss Barlieus were surprised
when they saw her/' observed Ellen Roper.
" Mademoiselle Annette asked her this morning
if she were really twenty-one. So that is the
age she must have represented herself to be in
writing to them."

In the course of a day or two Emily Chandos
received a letter from home. Lady Chandos had
discovered that the velvet mantle, by some unac-
countable mischance, had not been put into the
boxes. She would forward it to Nulle.

The De Mellissies were staying in the town.
Madame de Mellissie, the mother, an English
lady by birth, had been intimate with Lady
Chandos in early life; they were good friends
still. Her son, and only child, Monsieur Alfred
de Mellissie, chief of the family now in place of

236 ANNE HEREFORD.

his dead father, appeared to make it the -whole
business of his life to admire Emily Chandos.
The school commented on it.

" It can never lead to anything/'' they said.
" He is only a Frenchman of comrne-ca family,
and she is Miss Chandos of Chandos/''

And — being Miss Chandos of Chandos — it oc-
curred to me to wonder that she should be at
that French school. Not but that it was superior
— one of the first to be found in France ; but
scarcely the place for Miss Chandos.

I said as much — talking one day with Made-
moiselle Annette, when I was by her, drawing.

" My dear, Emily Chandos, though one of the
most charming and loveable girls ever seen, is
inclined to be wild ; and Miladi Chandos thinks
the discipline of a school good for her," was the
answer. " They do not care to have a governess
residing at Chandos."

" But why, mademoiselle ?"

Mademoiselle Annette shook her head mys-
teriously. " I know not. Miladi said it tome.
She is altered terribly. There is always a cloud
hanging over Chandos. Go on with your

ANNE HEREFORD. 237

sketch, my dear : young ladies should not be
curious."

One of the first questions put to me by the
girls was — were any names given in for my visit-
ing. I did not understand the question. We
elder ones were seated at the desk-table, doing
German exercises — or pretending to do them.
Miss Barlieu had found me so well advanced,
that I was put in the first classes for every
study. Ellen Roper saw I looked puzzled, and
explained.

" When a pupil is placed at school in France,
her friends give in the names of the families
where she may visit, and the governess writes
them down. It is not a bad custom/''

" It is a miserable custom, Ellen Roper," re-
torted Miss Chandos. " When the Staplctons
were passing through Nulle last Spring they in-
vited me to the hotel for a day, and Mademoiselle
Barlieu put her veto upon it, because their name
had not been given in by mamma. Lady Sta-
pleton came and expostulated ; said her husband,
Sir Gregory, was the oldest friend possible of the
late Sir Thomas Chandos, had been for years,

238 ANNE HEREFORD.

and that they would take every imaginable care
of me, and she knew Lady Chandos would wish
me to go. Not a bit of it ; you might as well
have tried to move the house as to move Made-
moiselle Barlieu. Miladi Chandos had not given
her the name, she said, and she could not depart
from the usual custom. Don't you remember
what a passion I was in? Cried my eyes out,
and would not do a single devoir. Anne Here-
ford, you can write home and ask them to give
in some names to Miss Barlieu."

Home ! What home had I to write to ?

CHAPTER IX.

A STEP IRREVOCABLE.

There was war between the English governess
and Emily Chandos. Emily was excessively
popular; with her beauty, her gaiety, and her
generous wilfulness : she did nearly what she
liked in the school — except of course with the
Miss Barlieus. For myself, I had learnt to love
her. She had her faults — what girl is without
them ? She was vain, petulant, haughty when
displeased, and a little selfish. But she pos-
sessed one great gift of attraction — that of
taking hearts by storm. Miss Johnstone began
by a mistake : the striving to put down Miss
Chandos. She was over-strict besides with her
lessons and exercises ; and more than once re-
ported her to Miss Annette for some trifling
fault, magnified by her into a grave one. The
girls espoused Emily's cause; and Miss John-

240 ANNE HEREFORD.

stone grew to be regarded, and also treated, with
contempt. It vexed her greatly ; and there were
other things.

Her name was Margaret. But she had in-
cautiously left an open letter about, in which she
was repeatedly called " Peg/' Of course that
was quite enough for the girls, and they took to
call her Peg, almost in her hearing. A newr
English pupil, who entered as weekly boarder,
went up at the English dictation and addressed
her as " Miss Pegg/' believing it to be her real
name. You should have seen Miss Johnstone's
dark and angry face, and the dancing eyes of
Emily Chandos.

Madame de Mellissie had left for Paris; but
her son, Monsieur Alfred, remained at Nulle —
his attraction being, as the girls said openly,
Emily Chandos. Emily laughed as she listened :
but denial she made none. They said another
thing — that the beautiful hearts- ease ring she
wore had been his love-gift : and still there was
no express denial. " Have it so if you like/'
was all Emily said.

" She cannot think seriously of him, you

ANNE HEREFORD. 241

know/' Ellen Roper observed one day. cc It is
a match that could never be allowed by her
family. He is quite a second-rate sort of
Frenchman, and she is Miss Chandos of Chandos.
He is a bit of a jackanapes too, vain and silly/'

" Ellen Roper, I am within hearing, I beg to
inform you/' said Miss Chandos, frcm half way
up the desk, her face in a lovely glow.

"That is just why I said it/' returned Ellen
Roper, who, however, had not known Emily was
near, and started at the sound of her voice. " I
dare say he has not above a thousand pounds or
two a year ; a very fair patrimony for a French-
man, you know ; but only fancy it for one in the
position of Miss Chandos."

" Go on, Ellen Roper ! I'll tell scmething of
you by-and-by."

" And, setting aside everything else, there's
another great barrier," went on Ellen Roper,
making objections very strong in her spirit of
mischief. " The De Mellissics are Reman Catho-
lics ; cela va, you know ; while the Chandos
family are staunch Conservative Protestants.
Lady Chandos would almost as soon give Emily
vol. i. 16

242 ANNE HEREFORD.

to the Grand Turk as to Alfred de Mel-
lissie."

A sort of movement at the desk, and we
looked round. Quietly seated on the low chair
in the corner, her ears drinking in all, for we
had been speaking in English, was Miss John-
stone. Had she been there all the time?
Emily Chandos's bright cheek paled a little, as
if there had fallen upon her a foreshadowing of ill.

I do not know that it would have come, but
that circumstances worked for it. On this after-
noon, this very same afternoon as we sat there,
Emily was called out of the room by one of the
maids, who said Mrs. Trehern had called to
see her.

"Trehern? — Trehern?" cried Emily, as she
went. " I don't know the name from Adam."

Back she soon came with a radiant face, and
presented herself to Mademoiselle Annette, who
was in class.

" Oh, mademoiselle, some friends are here,
and they wish me to go out with them. Will
you give me permission? It is Mr. and Mrs.
Trehern."

ANNE HEREFORD. 243

<( Trehern ? Trehern ¥* repeated Mademoiselle
Annette. " I don't remember that name on your
visiting list."

Emily knew quite well it was not there, since
this was the first time she had seen either of the
parties : but she had trusted to the good luck of
Mademoiselle Annette's believing that it was.

" Mamma will be so vexed if I do not go.
She is very intimate with the Treherns. They
have only just arrived at the town, mademoiselle,
and have descended at the Hotel du Lion d'Or."

Which concluding words gave us the clue to
Emily's eagerness for the visit. For it was at
that renowned hotel that Mr. Alfred de Mellissie
had been sojourning since his mother's depar-
ture. Mademoiselle Annette was firm.

" You know the rules of the school, my dear.
We have heard nothing of these gentlepecple
from your mamma, and it is impossible that you
can be allowed to e-o."

Emily Chandos carried back her excuses to
the salon, and after school gave vent to her mor-
tification in a private outburst to us.

" Such a dreadful shame, these horrid French

16—z

244 ANNE HEREFORD.

rules ! As if the Treherns would have poisoned
me ! But I despatch a letter to mamma to-
night to get permission. They are going to
stay a month at Nulle. It is the bridal tour."
" Have they just come from England V
" Not at all. She is French, and never was
in England in her life. She is a friend" —
dropping her voice still lower — u of the De Mel-
lissies ; at least her mother is : it was through
Alfred they called upon me to-day/'

" Then does Lady Chandos not know them ?"
" She knows him. It is a Cornish family.
This one, young Trehern, fell in love with a
French girl, and has married her. They were
married last Thursday, she told me. She had
the most ravishing toilette on to-day : a white
and blue robe : you might have taken it for
silver. She's nearly as young as I am."

The letter despatched to Lady Chandos by
Emily set forth the praises of Mrs. Trehern, and
especially dwelt upon the fact that her mother
was a "dear friend" of Madame de Mellissie.
Not a word said it, though, that Mr. Alfred
dc Mellissie was sojourning at the Lion d'Or : or

ANNE HEREFORD. 245

at Nulle. And there came back permission from
Lady Chandos for Emily to visit them : she
wrote herself to Miss Barlieu, desiring that it
might he so. Emily was in her glory.

A great apparent friendship sprang up be-
tween her and yonng Mrs. Trehern, who was
something like herself, inexperienced and thought-
less. She was of good family, pleasing in man-
ners, and quite won the hearts of the Miss
Barlieus. Relatives of hers, the De Rosnys,
lived in their chateau near Nulle — the cause of her
passing sojourn there. We school-girls remem-
bered how Maximilian de Bethune, the young
Baron de Rosny, had been the envoy despatched
by Henri le Grand to solicit assistance of Queen
Elizabeth, in the years subsequent to the great
slaughter of the Huguenots. We assumed that
Airs. Trehern might be of the same family ; but
did not know it.

Often and often she arrived at the school to
take out Emily Chandos. At length the Miss
Barlieus began to grumble : Mademoiselle Chan-
dos went out too frequently, and her studies
were getting in arrear. Emily protested it was

.040 ANNE HEREFORD.

licr mamma's wish and pleasure that she should
take advantage of the sojourn of Mrs. Trehern to
go out, and exhibited part of a letter from Lady
Chandos, in which the same appeared to be inti-
mated. Mademoiselle Annette shook her head,
and said it was a good thing the month of Mrs.
Trehern's stay was drawing to its close.

Now it happened about this time that an uncle
of Miss Johnstone's passed through Nulle on his
way to Paris, staying for a day at the Hotel du
Lion d'Or. He invited his niece to go to see
him, saying she might bring any one of the
young ladies with her. She chose me, to my
own surprise : perhaps the reason was that 1 had
never taken an active part in annoying her
as some of the rest had. The Miss Barlieus
allowed me to go ; for they looked upon it,
not that I was about to pay an indiscrimi-
nate visit, but going out with one of the
governesses, under her safe convoy and com-
panionship.

" Where are you off to, little Hereford/' de-
manded Emily Chandos, who was attiring herself
before the one glass in the bed-room when I

ANNE HEREFORD. 247

went up, for she was to spend the afternoon with
the Treherns.

" Miss Johnstone's uncle is at the Lion
d'Or, and she has asked me to dinner there. We
are to dine at the table d'hote."

" The Lion d'Or !" cried Emily, turning round.
" What a chance ! to have that sharp-sighted
duenna, Peg, dining at table with us \"

"What, do you — do the Treherns dine at the
table d'hote ?"

" Where else should they dine ? The hotel is
too full, just now, to admit of private dinners."

Mr. Johnstone came for us, and we walked
about, looking at the old town, until six o'clock,
the dinner hour. A novel scene to me was that
crowded dining-room, with its array of company,
of waiters, and of good cheer ; so novel that for
some time I did not notice four seats, immediately
opposite to us, quite vacant. All eyes were raised
at the four who came in to fill them. Mr. and
Mrs. Trehern ; she dressed elaborately, perfectly ;
not a fold of her robe out of place, not a hair of
her many braids ; Alfred de MelHssie, with his
airs of a petit maitre, but good-looking enough j

248 ANNE HEREFORD.

and Emily Chandos, with her gay and sparkling
beauty .

" Just look there, Miss Hereford ! do you see
that y}

Miss Johnstone's words were spoken in a low
tone ot consternation. I would not understand
to whom she alluded.

" See what, Miss Johnstone r:

" Miss Chandos/' she answered, devouring
Emily with her eyes. u I wonder if the Demoi-
selles Barlieu know that while she has been pre-
tending to visit the Treherns, it has been a cloak
for her meeting that Frenchman ?,}

11 Oh, Miss Johnstone ! she has visited the
Treherns."

" I can see through a mill-stone/' was Miss
Johnstone's cold answer.

Never were more defiant looks cast upon a
governess than Emily Chandos threw over the
table at Miss Johnstone. That the latter pro-
voked them by her manner there was no doubt.
I think — I always had thought — that she was
envious of Miss Chandos, though whence or why
the feeling should have arisen I cannot say. They

ANNE HEREFORD, 249

were the most distinguished group at table,, Mr.
Trehern — a fine, big, burly Cornisliman — and bis
wife, Monsieur de Mellissie and Emily : and the
waiters treated them with marked distinction.
Even the appurtenances of their dinner were
superior, for none others within the range of
my view ventured upon sparkling Moselle and
ice. They rose from table earlier than many,
Emily throwing me a laughing nod, as she took
Air. Trehern's arm, Alfred de Mellissie following
with Mrs. Trehern ; but not vouchsafing the
slightest notice of Miss Johnstone.

" She may take her leave of it/' I heard the
latter whisper to herself.

Mr. Johnstone did not mend the matter, or
his niece's temper. " What a lovely girl that
is \" he exclaimed. " She is English."

" Yes/' answered Miss Johnstone, her lips
parting with acrimony. " She is one of my
pupils."

" One of your pupils ! How is it she took
no notice of you ?"

Miss Johnstone made no reply, but the acri-
mony on her lips grew sharper : very sharp in-

250 ANNE HEREFORD.

deed when she saw Emily escorted home by M.
de Mellissie, with Mrs. Trehern's maid in at-
tendance.

The explosion came next day. Miss Johnstone
lodged a formal complaint in private before the
Miss Barlieus. Miss Chandos, she felt perfectly
certain, was being made clandestine love to by
Monsieur Alfred de Mellissie !

" Seated at the table d'hote with the young
man ! — accompanied by him home afterwards \"
cried Mademoiselle Annette. " It is not to be
believed/''

Miss Johnstone said it was,, and called me as a
witness. Emily Chandos was commanded to the
salon, and questioned.

She could not deny it ; she did not attempt
it : rather braved it out.

" Where was the harm of it, Mademoiselle
Annette ? Monsieur de Mellissie did not attempt
to eat me."

" You know that the customs and ideas of our
country are against this kind of thing/' em-
phatically pronounced Miss Barlieu. " I am sur-
prised at you, Mademoiselle Emily ; you have

ANNE HEREFORD. 251

deceived us. I shall write to Miladi your mother
to-day. If she sanctions this public visiting, I
cannot. I cannot possibly allow any young lady
in my establishment to run the risk of being
talked of as imprudent. You will not go to
Mrs. Trehern again ; she has shown herself little
capable of taking care of you."

u Do you mean, mademoiselle, that I am not
to go out in future when invited ?" asked Emily,
her heart beating visibly.

" I shall very unmistakeably point out to your
mamma the desirability of your not again going
out to visit ; certainly you will not while Monsieur
de Mellissie remains at Nulle," was the pointed
reply of Miss Barlieu.

And Emily Chandos knew that her liberty was
over. But for this, would she have taken the
irrevocable step she did take. Alas ! it was soon
too late to speculate.

An immediate reply came from Lady Chandos,
interdicting all indiscriminate visiting for Emily ;
and saying that she must make good use of her
time in study, as she would leave school early
in the spring.

252 ANNE HEREFORD.

Did the arrival of that letter expedite the
catastrophe ? I cannot tell. It was known that
Madame de Mellissie, the mother, was at Nnlle
again, and a very short while went on.

We were doing English with Miss Johnstone
one afternoon, when Mrs. Trehern called. Emily
was allowed to see her, bnt Mademoiselle Bar-
lieu accompanied her to the salon. Some sort
of explanation took place, and Mrs. Trehern was
informed that Miss Chandos could not visit her
again. She left, and Emily returned to the class,
but the English lesson was over then. Over in
disgrace, for none of us had done well; at least,
Miss Johnstone said we had not. By way of
punishment, she protested she should make us
finish it after supper.

We had bread-and-butter and shrimps for
supper that night — I shall always remember
it ; and we prolonged it as mnch as we could,
drinking three cups of tea each, and eating as
many shrimps as we could get. Emily Chandos
did not appear, and Mademoiselle Caroline —
who had viewed the scandal, touching Alfred de
Mellissie, with shocked displeasure — would not

ANNE HEREFORD. 253

allow her to be called, saying she was " sulking;"
But the supper, spin it out as we would, could
not last all night, and Miss Johnstone, as good
as her word, called us up with our English books.

" Go and find Miss Chandos/' she said to me.
" She has chosen to go without her supper, but
she shall not escape her lesson."

Emily was not to be found. Amidst a search
of commotion, the like of which I had never seen,
it was discovered that she had quitted the house.
The De Mellissies, the next inquired for, had
quitted the town. A telegraphic message went
to Chandos, and Mademoiselle Barlieu took to
her bed with chagrin.

The despatch brought back Mr. Chandos,
Emily's brother. About the same hour that he
arrived, a letter was received from London from
M. Alfred de Mellissie, saying that he and Miss
Chandos had just been married by special licence,
and also by the rites of the Romish Church. That
his English mother had aided and abetted the
step, although she did not accompany them in
their flight to England, there was no question of.

Miss Barlieu saw Mr. Chandos in her chamber ;

254 ANNE HEREFORD.

the affair had made her really ill. Afterwards,
as I was passing down the stairs, he came forth
from the drawing-room from an interview with
Miss Annette. She was talking very fast, her
eyes streaming with grief, and Mr. Chandos
strove to soothe her.

" It all comes of that indiscriminate visiting,
sir, that was allowed to Mademoiselle Chandos,"
she said, with bitter tears. " I told my sister
ten times that Miladi Chandos was wrong to per-
mit it. Ah ! sir, we shall not ever get over the
blow. Nothing of the kind has ever happened
to us."

" Do not distress yourself," Mr. Chandos
answered. " I can see that no shadow of blame
rests with you. That lies with Emily and the De
Mellissies : my sister's fortune is a great prize to
a Frenchman."

What made me gather myself into a nook of the
. wall, and gaze upon Mr. Chandos, as he passed
out in the dusk of the evening ? Not the deep,
mellow tones — not the sweet accent of voice in
which his words were spoken. That they were
all that, my ear told me ; but something else had

ANNE HEREFORD. 255

struck upon me — his face and form. Where had
I seen him?

Somewhere, I felt certain. The contour of the
pale face, with its fine and delicate features ;
something in the tall, slim figure, even in the
manner of turning his head as he spoke : all
seemed to touch on a chord of my memory.
Where, where could I have seen Mr. Chandos ?

The question was not solved, and time went
steadily on again.

CHAPTER X.

AT MRS. PALEb/s.

Nineteen years of age. Nineteen ! For the
last twelvemonth, since the completion of my
education, I had helped in the school as one of
the governesses. The Miss Barlieus, whose con-
nection was extensive amidst the English as well
as the French, had undertaken the responsibility
of "placing me out/' as my trustees phrased it.
When I was eighteen their task, as trustees, was
over, and the annuity I had enjoyed ceased.
Henceforth I had no friends in the world but the
Miss Barlieus : and truly kind and good those
ladies were to me.

I was attacked with an illness soon after my
eighteenth birthday : not a severe one, but last-
ing tolerably long ; and that had caused me to
remain the additional twelvemonth, for which I
received a slight salary. They liked me, and I
liked them.

ANNE HEREFORD. 257

So I "was to be a governess after all ! The
last descendant of the Hereford s and the Keppe-
Carews had no home in the ■world, no means of
living, and mnst work for them. My pride re-
belled against it now, as it never had when I was
a child ; and I made a resolution never to talk
of my family. I was an orphan ; I had no rela-
tives living : that would be quite enough answer
when asked about it. Keppe-Carew had again
changed masters : a little lad of eight, whose
dead father I had never seen, and who perhaps
had never heard of me, was its owner now.

I had never heard a syllable of Mr. Edwin
Barley since I left him, or of any of his house-
hold, or of the events that had taken place there.
That George Heneage had never been traced, I
knew ; that Mr. Edwin Barley was still seeking
after him, I was quite sure : the lapse of years
could not abate the anger of a man like him.
Mrs. Hemson was dead now, a twelvemonth past ;
so that I was entirely alone in the world. As
to the will, it had not been found, as was to be
supposed, or the money would have been mine.
My growth in years, the passing from the little

vol. i. 17

258 ANNE HEREFORD.

girl into the woman, and the new ties and in-
terests of my foreign school life, had in a degree
obliterated those unhappy events, and I scarcely
ever gave even a thought to the past.

Mr. and Mrs. Paler were staying temporarily
at Nulle ; well-connected English people, about
to fix their residence in Paris. They were
strangers to me personally, but the Miss Bar-
lieus knew something of their family, and we
heard that Mrs. Paler was inquiring for a
governess ; one who spoke thoroughly English,
French, and German. Mademoiselle Annette
thought it might suit me, and proposed to take
me to call on them at the Lion d'Or hotel.

1 seized upon the idea eagerly. The word
Paris had wrought its own charm. To be con-
veyed to that city of delight appeared only
secondary to entering within the precincts of a
modern Elysium.

" Oh, Mademoiselle Annette, pray let us go !
I might perhaps do for them."

Mademoiselle Annette laughed at the eager-
ness so unequivocally betrayed. But she set off
with me the same day.

ANNE HEREFORD. 259

The Lion cTOr was full. Mr. and Mrs. Paler
tad no private sitting-room (there were only
two salons in the whole house), and we were
ushered into their chamber, French fashion. Mr.
Paler was a stout man in gold spectacles, shy
and silent; his wife, a tall handsome woman
with large eyes and dark hair, talked enough for
both. Some conversation ensued, chiefly taken
np by Mrs. Paler explaining the sort of gover-
ness she wished for, Mr. Paler having quitted
ns.

"If you require a completely well-educated
young lady — a gentlewoman in every sense of
the term — you cannot do better than engage
Miss Hereford," said Mademoiselle Annette.

" But what's her religion ?" abruptly asked
Mrs. Paler. "I would not admit a Roman
Catholic into the bosom of my family ; no, not
though she paid me to come. Designing Jesuits,
as a great many of them are Vs

Which, considering she was speaking to a
Roman Catholic, and that a moment's conside-
ration might have told her she was evinced any-
thing but courtesy on the lady's part, to say

17—2

260 ANNE HEREFORD.

nothing- of good feeling. Mademoiselle Annette's
brown cheek deepened, and so did mine.

" I belong to the Church of England, madam/'
I answered.

" And with regard to singing V9 resumed Mrs,
Paler, passing to another qualification uncere-
moniously. " Have you a fine voice ? — a good
style ? — can you teach it well ?"

"I sing but little, and should not like to
teach it. Neither am I a very brilliant player^
I have no great forte for music. "What I do
play I play well, and I can teach it well/'

" There it is ! Was there ever anything so
tiresome ?" grumbled Mrs. Paler. " I declare you
cannot have everything, try as you will. Our
last governess was first-rate in music — quite
a divine voice she had — and her style perfect ;
but, of all the barbarous accents in French and
German (not to speak of her wretched grammar) ,
hers were the worst. Now, you are a good
linguist, but no hand at music ! What a worry
it is I*

a May I ask what age your children are ?';
interposed Mademoiselle Annette, who could

ANNE HEREFORD. 261

speak sufficient English to nnderstand and join
in the conversation.

" The eldest is twelve."

" Then I can assure you Miss Hereford is
quite sufficient musician for what you will want
at pre sen t, madam. It is not always the most
brilliant players who are the best instructors;
our experience has taught us the contrary is the
ease/''

Mrs. Paler mused. " Does Miss Hereford
draw ?"

"Excellently well/" replied Mademoiselle
Annette.

" I have a great mind to try her/' debated
Mrs. Paler, as if soliloquizing with herself.
" But I must just pay my husband the com-
pliment of asking what he thinks : though I
never allow any opinion of his to influence me.
He is the shyest man ! he went out, you saw, as
you came in. I am not sure but he will think
Miss Hereford too good looking ; but she has a
very dignified air with her, though her manners
are charmingly simple."

u When you have considered the matter,

262 ANNE HEREFORD.

madam, we shall be glad to receive your
answer/'' observed Mademoiselle Annette, as
she rose. And Mrs. Paler acquiesced.

" Anne/'' began Mademoiselle Annette, as we
walked home, " I do not think that situation
will suit you. You will not be comfortable
in it."

" But why ?" I asked, feeling my golden
visions of Paris dimmed by the words. " I think
it would perfectly suit me, mademoiselle/''

" Madame Paler is not a nice lady ; she is
not a gentlewoman. I question, too, if she
would make you comfortable/''

" I. am willing to risk it. You and Made-
moiselle Barlieu have told me all along that I
cannot expect everything."

" That is true, my child. Go where you will,
you must look out for disagreeables and crosses.
The lives of all of us are made up of trials ;
none, save ourselves, can feel them; few, save
ourselves, can see, or will believe in them. Many
a governess, tossed and turned about in the
world's tempest, weary of her daily task, sick of
its monotony, is tempted, no doubt, to say, ' Oh

ANNE HEREFORD. 263

that I were established as the Demoiselles Barlieu
are, with a home and school of my own V But
I can tell you, Anne, that often and often I
and my sister envy the lot of the poorest gover-
ness out on her own account, because she is free
from anxiety/''

She spoke truly. Every individual lot has
its peculiar trials, and none can mitigate them.
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness." I
walked on by her side then, in my young in-
experience, wondering whether all people had
these trials, whether they would come to me. It
was my morning of life, when the unseen future
looks as a bright and flowery dream. Made-
moiselle Annette broke the silence.

" You will never forget, my dear,, that you
have a friend in us. Should you meet with any
trouble, should you be at any time out of a
situation, come to us; our house is open to
you."

" Thank you, thank you, dear Mademoiselle
Annette/'' I replied, grasping her hand. " I
will try and do brave battle with the world's
cares ; I have not forgotten my mother's lessons."

264 ANNE HEREFORD.

u Anne," she gravely responded, " do not
battle : rather welcome them."

"Well, I was engaged. And, as the Demoiselles
Barlien observed, it was not altogether like my
entering the house of people entirely strange,
for they were acquainted with the family
of Mr. Paler : himself they had never before seen,
but two of his sisters had been educated in their
establishment.

A week or two after the Palers had
settled themselves in Paris, I was escorted
thither by a friend of the Miss Barlieus. The
aaaress given me was Avenue de St. Cloud,
Commune de Passy. We found it a good-looking,
commodious house, and my travelling protector,
Madame Bernadotte, left me at the door. A
young girl came forward as I was shown into a
room.

" Are you Miss Hereford, the new governess V*
" Yes. I think I have had the pleasure of

seeing you at Nulle," I answered, holding out

my hand to her.

" That Fm sure you've not. I never was at

Kulle. It was Kate and Harriet who went there

ANXE HEREFORD. 265

with papa and mamma. I and Fanny and Grace
came straight here last week from England, with
nurse."

Now, strange to say, it had never occurred
to me or to the Miss Barlieus to ask Mrs. Paler,
during the negotiations, how many pupils I should
have. Two children were with them at Nulle,
Kate and Harriet, and I never supposed that
there were others ; I believed these would be my
only pupils.

" How many are you, my dear ?"

" Oh, we are five."

" Am I to teach you all V

" Of course. There's nobody else to teach
us. And we have two little brothers, but they
are quite in the nursery/''

Had Mrs. Paler purposely concealed the num-
ber ? or had it been the result of inadvertence ?
The thought that came over me was, that were
I engaging a governess for five pupils, I should
take care to mention that there were five. The}r
came flocking round me now, every one of them,
high-spirited, romping girls, impatient of control,
their ages varying from six to twelve.

266 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Mamma and papa are out, but I don't sup-
pose they'll be long. Do you want to see
mamma ?"

" I shall be glad to see her/-'

" Do you wish for anything to eat ?" inquired
Miss Paler. " You can have what you like :
dinner or tea ; you have only to ring and order it.
We have dined and had tea also. Mamma has
not ; but you don't take your meals with her."

As she spoke, some noise was heard in the
house, and they all ran out. It proved to be
Mrs. Paler. She went up to her own sitting-
room, and thither I was summoned.

" So you have got here safely, Miss Here-
ford ?" was her salutation, spoken cordially
enough. But she did not offer to shake hands
with me.

" I have been making acquaintance with my
pupils, madam. I did not know there were so
many."

" Did you not ? Oh, you forget ; I have no
doubt I mentioned it."

" I think not. I believed that the two Miss
Palers I saw at Nulle were your only children."

ANNE HEREFORD. 267

" My only children ! Good gracious, Miss
Hereford, what an idea ! Why, I have seven !
and have lost two, which made nine, and shall
have more yet, for all I know. You will take
the five girls ; five are as easily taught as two.""

I did not dispute the words. I had come,
intending and hoping to do my duty to the
very utmost extent, whether it might be much
or little. Though certainly the five pupils
did look formidable in prospective, considering
that I should have to teach them everything,
singing excepted.

" I hope you will suit me/' went on Mrs.
Paler. " I have had many qualms of doubt
since I engaged you. But I can't beat them
into Mr. Paler; he turns round, and politely
tells me they are ' rubbish/ as any heathen
might."

" Qualms of doubt as to my being but nine-
teen, or to my skill in music V3 I asked.

" Neither ; your age I never made an objec-
tion, and I dare say your music will do very well
for the present. Here's Mr. Paler/''

He came in, the same apparently shy, silent,

26S ANNE HEREFORD.

portly man as at Nulle, in his gold spectacles.
But he came up kindly to me, and shook hands.
" My doubts turn upon serious points, Miss
Hereford/'' pursued Mrs. Paler. " If I thought
you would undermine the faith of my children
and imbue them with Roman Catholic doc-
trines "

u Mrs. Paler Vs I interrupted in surprise. " I
told you I was a Protestant, brought up strictly
in the tenets of the Church of England. Your
children are of the same faith : there is little
fear, then, that I should seek to undermine it.
I know of none better in the world."

" You must excuse my anxiety, Miss Hereford.
Can you conscientiously assure me that you hate
all Roman Catholics ¥'

I looked at her in amazement. And she
looked at me, waiting for my answer. A smile,
unless I mistook, crossed the lips of Mr. Paler.

" Oh, Mrs. Paler, what would my own religion
be worth if I could hate ? Believe me there are
excellent Christians amidst the Roman Catholics,
as there are amidst us. People who are striving
to do their duty in this world, living and working

ANNE HEREFORD. 269

on for the next. Look at the Miss Barlieus ! I
love them dearly; every one respects them:
hut I would not change my religion for theirs."

"It is the fact of your having spent four
years in their house that makes me doubtful.
But I think I can trust you ; you look so sincere
and true. The alarming number of converts to
Romanism which we have of late years been
obliged to witness, must make us all fearful."

"Perverts, if you please/' interrupted Mr.
Paler. " When I hear of our folks going over
to the Romish faith, I always suspect they are
those who have not done their duty in their own.
A man may find all he wants in his own religion,
if he only looks out for it."

" Oh, that's very true," I exclaimed, my eyes
sparkling, glad, somehow, to hear him say it.
u It is what I have been trying to express to
Mrs. Paler."

" She has got her head full of some nonsensical
fear that her children should be turned into
Roman Catholics — I suppose because wc are in
a Catholic country," he resumed, looking at his
wife through his glasses. " She'll talk about it

270 ANNE HEREFORD.

till she turns into one herself, if she doesn't
mind ; that's the way the mania begins. There's
no more fear of sensible people turning Catholics
than there is of my turning Dutchman : as to
the children, the notion is simply absurd. And
what sort of weather have you had at Nulle,
Miss Hereford, since we left it V3

"Not very fine. Yesterday it poured with
rain all day."

"Ah. That would make it pleasant for tra-
velling, though."

" Yes : it laid the dust/'

" Did you travel alone ?"

11 Oh, no ; the Miss Barlieus would not have
allowed it. It is not etiquette in France for a
young lady to go out even for a walk alone. An
acquaintance of the Miss Barlieus, Madame
Bernadotte, who was journeying to Paris, accom-
panied me."

"Well, I hope you will be comfortable here,"
he concluded.

" Thank you ; I hope so."

" And look here, Fll give you a hint. Just
you get the upper hand of those children at once,

ANNE HEREFORD. 271

or you'll never do it. They are like so many
untrained colts."

Nothing more was said. I had not been
asked to sit, and supposed the silence was a hint
that I must quit the room. Before I had got
far, a servant came and said I was to go back to
it. Mrs. Paler was alone then, looking very
solemn and dark.

" Miss Hereford, you have been reared in se-
clusion, mostly in school, and probably know
little of the convenances — the exactions of social
life. Do not be offended if I set you right upon
a point — I have no doubt you have erred, not
from want of respect, but from lack of know-
ledge."

What had I done ? of course I said I should
be obliged to her to set me right in anything
when found wrong.

" You are a governess ; you hold a dependent
situation in my house. Is it not so ?"

u Certainly it is," I answered, wondering much.

" Then never forget that a certain amount of
respect in manner is due to myself and to Mr.
Paler. I do not, of course, wish to exact the

272 ANNE HEREFORD.

deference a servant would give — you must under-
stand that ; but there's a medium : a medium.
Miss Hereford. To you, I and Mr. Paler are
' madam ' and ' sir/ and 1 beg that we may be
always addressed as such/"

I curtsied and turned away, the burning
colour dyeing my face. It was my first lesson
in dependence. But Mrs. Paler was right ; and
I felt vexed to have forgotten that I was only a
governess. Misplaced rebellion rose in my heart,
whispering that I was a lady born ; that my
family was far higher in the social world than
Mr. or Mrs. Paler's ; whispering, moreover,
that that lady was not a gentlewoman, and
never could be one. But after a few minutes
spent in sober reflection, common sense chased
away my foolish thoughts, leaving in place
a firm resolution never so to transgress again.
From that hour, I took up my position
bravely — the yielding, dependent, submissive
governess.

But what a life of toil I entered upon ! and —
where were my dreams of Paris? Have you
forgotten that they had visited me, in all their

ANNE HEREFORD. 273

beautiful delusion? I had not. Delusive hopes
are always the sweetest.

When I had stayed three months at Mrs.
Paler's I had never once been into Paris further
than the Champs Elysees. Save that we went
every Sunday morning in a closed carriage to
the Ambassador's chapel, I saw nothing of Paris.
The streets may have been of crystal, the foun-
tains of malachite marble, the houses of burnished
gold, for all I witnessed of them — and I believe
my warm imagination had pictured something of
the like resplendence. There was no pleasure
for me ; no going out ; my days were one lasting
scene of toil.

I am not going to complain unjustly of Mrs.
Paler's situation, or make it out worse than it
was. It has become much the fashion of late
years — I may say a mania — to set forth the
sorrows and ill-treatment that governesses have
to endure : were the other side of the question to
be taken up, it might be seen that ladies have as
much to bear from governesses. There are good
places and there are bad ones ; and there are ad-
mirable governesses, as well as undesirable and
vol. i. 18

274 ANNE HEREFORD.

most incapable ones : perhaps the good and bad,
on both sides are about balanced. I was well-
treated at Mr. Paler's ; I had a generous diet,
and a maid to wait upon me in conjunction with
the two elder girls. When they had visitors in
an evening, I was admitted on an equality (at
any rate to appearance) ; I had respect paid me
by the servants ; and I was not found fault with
by Mr. and Mrs. Paler. Could I desire better
than this ? No. But I was overworked.

Put it to yourselves what it was, if you have
any experience in teaching. Five girls, all in
different stages of advancement, to learn every-
thing, from German and good English down to
needle-work. The worst task was the music ; the
drawing lessons I could give conjointly. All five
learnt it, piano and harp, and two of them, the
second and the youngest but one, were so wild
and unsteady that they could not be trusted to
practise one instant alone. I rose every morn-
ing at half-past six to begin the music lessons,
and I was usually up until twelve or one o' clock
the next morning correcting exercises, for I could
not find time to do them during the day. " Make

ANNE HEREFORD. 275

time/' says somebody. I could only have made
it by neglecting the children.

" Our last governess never did a thing after
six in the evening/'' Kate said to me one day.
" You should not be so particular, Miss Here-
ford."

" But she did not get you on to your mamma's
satisfaction."

" No, indeed : mamma sent her away because
of that. She did not care whether we advanced
or not. All she cared for was to get the studies
over anyhow."

Just so : it had been eye-service, as I could
have told by their ignorance when I took the
girls in hand. My dear mother had enjoined
me differently : " Whatever you undertake, Anne,
let it be done to the very best of your ability : do
it as to God ; as though His eye and ear were
ever present with you."

I appealed to Mrs. Paler : telling her I could
not continue to work as I was doing, and asking
what could be done.

" Oh, nonsense, Miss Hereford, you must be
a bad economizer of time," she answered. tt The

I8—2

276 ANNE HEREFORD.

other governesses I have had did not complain of
being overworked."

" But, madam, did they do their duty V
" Middling for that — but then they were in-
corrigibly lazy. We are quite satisfied with you,
Miss Hereford, and you must manage your time
so as to afford yourself more leisure."

I suggested to Mrs. Paler that she should get
help for part of the music lessons, but she would
not hear of it ; so I had to go on doing my best ;
but to do that best overtaxed my strength sadly.
Mrs. Paler might have had more consideration :
she saw that I rarely went out; one hurried
walk in the week, perhaps, and the drive to
church on Sunday. My pupils walked out every
day, taken by one or other of the servants ; but
they did not go together : two or three stayed
with me while the rest went, and when they
came back to me these went. Mrs. Paler in-
sisted upon my giving an hour of music to each
child daily, which made five hours a day for music
alone The confinement and the hard work,
perhaps the broken spirits, began to tell upon
me ; nervous headaches came on, and I wrote

ANNE HEREFORD. 277

to the Miss Barlieus, asking what I should do.
I wrote the letter on a Sunday, I am sorry to
say, failing time on a week day. None of us
went abroad on a Sunday afternoon. Mrs. Paler
protested that nothing but sin and gallavanting
was to be seen out of doors on a French Sunday ;
and once home from church we were shut up for
the rest of the day. She did not go out herself,
or suffer anybody else to go ; Mr. Paler excepted.
He took the reins into his own hands.

The Miss Barlieus answered me sensibly; it
was Miss Annette who wrote. " Put up with it
to the close of your year from the time of en-
trance/'' she said. " It is never well for a gover-
ness to leave her situation before the year is up,
if it can be avoided; and were you to do so,
some ladies might urge it as an objection to
making another engagement with you. You are
but young still. Give Mrs. Paler ample notice,
three months, we believe, is the English usage —
and endeavour to part with her amicably. She
must see that her situation is beyond your
strength/''

I took the advice, and in June gave Mrs. Paler

278 ANNE HEREFORD.

warning to leave, having entered her house in
September. She was angry, and affected to be-
lieve I would not go. I respectfully asked her
to put herself in idea in my place, and candidly
say whether or not the work was too hard. She
muttered something about u over-conscientious-
ness ;" that I should get along better without it.
Nothing more was said ; nothing satisfactory de-
cided, and the time went on again to the approach
of September. I wondered how I must set about
looking out for another asylum; I had no time
to look out, no opportunity to go abroad. Mr.
Paler was in England.

" Miss Hereford, mamma told me to say that we
shall be expected in the drawing-room to-night ;
you, and I, and Harriet/' observed Kate Paler
to me one hot summer's day. "The Gordons
are coming and the De Mellissies."

" "What De Mellissies are those V9 I inquired,
the name striking upon my ear with a thrill of
remembrance.

" What De Mellissies are those ? why, the De
Mellissies/' returned Kate, girl-fashion. " She
is young and very pretty; I saw her when I

ANNE HEREFORD. 279

was out with mamma in the carriage the other
day."

" Is she English or French ?"

" English,, Fll vow. No French tongue could
speak English as she does/''

" When you answer in that free, abrupt manner,
Kate, you greatly displease me/' I interposed.
" It is most unladylike."

Kate laughed ; said she was free-spoken by
nature, and it was of no use trying to be other-
wise. By habit more than by nature, I told her :
and I waited with impatience for the evening.

It was Emily. I knew her at once. Gray-
mannered, laughing, lovely as ever, she came into
the room on her husband's arm, wearing a pink
silk dress and wreath of roses. Alfred de Mellissie
looked ill ; at least he was paler and thinner than
in the old days at Nulle. She either did not or
would not remember me ; as the evening drew
on, I felt sure that she did not, for she spoke
cordially enough to me, though as to an utter
stranger. It happened that we were quite alone
once, in the recess of a window, and I inter-
rupted what she was saying about a song.

280 ANNE HEREFORD.

" Have you quite forgotten me; Madame de
Mellissie?"

"Forgotten you V she returned, with a quick
glance. " I never knew you, did I ?'

" In the years gone by, when you were Miss
Chandos. I am Anne Hereford."

A puzzled gaze at me, and then she hid her
face in her hands, its penitent expression mixed
with laughter. " Never say a word about that
naughty time, if you love me ! everybody says it
should be buried five fathoms deep. I ought to
have known you, though, for it is the same
gentle face; the sweet and steady eyes, with
the long eyelashes, and the honest good sense
and the pretty smile. But you have grown out
of all knowledge. Not that you are much of
a size now. What an escapade that was ! the
staid Demoiselles Barlieu will never get over it
I shall go and beg their pardon in person some
day. Were you shocked at it ?"

11 Yes. But has it brought you happiness V

" Who talks of happiness at soirees ? You
must be as unsophisticated as ever, Anne Here-
ford. Has that Johnstone left?"

ANNE HEREFORD. 281

" A long, long while ago. She was dismissed
at the end of a few months. The Miss Barlieus
did not like her."

" I don't know who could like her. And so
yon are a governess V

" Yes/' I bravely avowed. " I have been nearly
a year with the Miss Palers."

" Yon must get leave to come and see me.
Alfred, here's an old schoolfellow of mine. I
dare say you will remember her."

M. de Mellissie came at the call, and was talk-
ing to me for the rest of the evening.

The great things that a night may bring forth !
The sadness that the rising of another sun may
be bearing to us on its hot wings !

It was the morning following the soiree. I
was in the schoolroom with the girls, but quitted
it for a minute to read a letter in peace that
arrived by the early post. It was written by
Miss Barlieu. A very kind letter, tolling me to
jro back to them while I looked out for a fresh
situation, should I not get one before leaving
Mrs. Paler. Suddenly the door opened, and Mrs .

282 ANNE HEREFORD.

Paler came in without any ceremony of knock-
ing, her face white, and an open letter in her
hand. She looked scared, fierce ; agitation im-
peding her free utterance.

" Here's news V she brought out at length,
her voice rising to a scream ; " here's news to
come upon me like a thunderbolt ! Does he
expect me to live through it ?"

" Oh, Mrs. Paler, what has happened? You
look ill and terrified. You have had bad tidings !
Will you not tell them to me V3

" Wh at else have I come for but to tell you ?"
she retorted, speaking in a tone that betrayed as
much anger as distress. " I went to the study
after you, and frightened the girls; they were
for following me here, so I locked them in. I
must tell some one, or my feelings will burst
bounds ; they always were of a demonstrative
nature. Not like Ms, the sly, quiet fox V

My fears flew to Mr. Paler. He had been in
England some time now, ever since the middle of
May. Though I did not understand her anger,
or the last words.

" You h ave heard from Mr. Paler, madam \"

ANNE HEREFORD. 283

I uttered. " Some harm has happened to
him !"

" Harm ! yes, it has. Harm to me and my
children, though, more than to him. Miss Here-
ford, he has just gone and ruined himself."

" How ?" I asked, feeling grieved and puzzled.

" It was always his mania, that turf- gambling,
and as a young man he got out of thousands at
it. I thought how it would be — I declare I did
— when he became restless here in Paris, just
before the Epsom Meeting, and at last went off
to it. ' You'll drop some hundreds over it, if
you do go/ I said to him. ' Not 1/ was his
retort, ' since I have had children to drop
hundreds over, I don't spare them for race-
horses/ A wicked, reckless man \"

" And has he — dropped the hundreds, madam ?"

" Hundreds \" she shrieked ; and then, looking
covertly around the roof, as if fearful others
might be listening, she sunk her voice to a
whisper : " He has lost thirty thousand pounds."

" Oh \" I exclaimed, in my horror. Mrs. Paler
wrung her hands.

" Thirty thousand pounds, every pound of it

284 ANNE HEREFORD.

— and I hope remorse Trill haunt him to his dying
day ! Epsom, Ascot, Goodwood — I know not
how many other courses he has visited this
summer, and has betted frantically at all. The
mania was upon him again, and he could not stop
himself. He is lying ill now at Doncaster, at one
of the inns there, and his brother writes ; he tells
me they dare not conceal the facts from me any
longer/'

" Shall you not go over to him, madam 7"

" I go over to him \" she retorted ; ' ' I would
not go to him if he were dying. But that my
children are his, I would never live with him
again ; I would never notice him : I would get a
divorce, if practicable, but for their sakes. You
look shocked, Miss Hereford ; but you, an unmar-
ried girl, cannot realize the blow in all its extent.
Do you think a man has any right wilfully to
bring disgrace and misery upon his wife and
children ?"

u Oh, madam — no \"

"It is my punishment come home to me,"
she wildly exclaimed. " They told me how it
would be, sooner or later, if I persisted in marry-

ANNE HEREFORD. 285

ing James Paler : but I would not listen to
them. My mother and sisters will say it serves
me right/''

I heard the children squealing and kicking at
the school-room door, and did not dare to go to
them.

" It is next door to ruin/' said Mrs. Paler ;
"it will take from us more than half our in-
come ; and present debt and embarrassment it
must bring. Ah ! see how some things — trifles
— happen sometimes for the best ! I thought
it a great misfortune to lose you. but I am glad
of it now, for I am sure I can no longer afford
an expensive governess. Nor many servants,
either. Oh, woe's me V*

I stood looking at her distress with great pity,
feeling that Mr. Paler must be next kin to a mad-
man. And yet I had liked him : he was most
affectionate to his children, and solicitous for the
comfort of his household. Mrs. Paler seemed to
become suddenly awake to the uproar. She darted
to the school-room, scolded one, boxed another,
locked the door upon them again, and came back
to me.

286 ANNE HEREFORD.

" I had better settle things with you at once,
Miss Hereford. If I take it in my head,, I may
go off to my family in England at a minute's
notice ; there's no knowing. Your time here will
expire in a fortnight ?"

" Yes."

" I had intended to offer an increased salary,
if you would stay on — but that's all out of the
question now. I suppose you have no settled
plans ; no fresh situation to go to ?"

" Madam, it has not been in my power to look
out for one."

" True. Yet it is better that you should go.
I don't know what may become of us in future :
where we shall live, or what we shall do — perhaps
go to some obscure place in Germany, or Scot-
land, or Wales, and economize : anywhere, that
it's cheap. I wonder that such men, who deli-
berately bring ruin on their families, are per-
mitted to live ! But now we must try and find
you another situation."

" Perhaps Madame de Mellissie may know of
something : and I think she would interest her-
self for me, if I knew how to see her/'

ANNE HEREFORD. 287

" You can go and see her/' replied Mrs. Paler,
"you can go to-day, and call upon her. My
maid shall take you. Never mind the studies :
I feel as if I should not care if the girls never
learnt anything again — with this blow upon
them/'

I did not wait for a second permission : the
thought that Emily de Mellissie might help me
to a fresh situation had been floating in my mind
all night. She was well-connected in England ;
she was in the best society in Paris ; and she was
good-natured.

In the afternoon I proceeded to the hotel (as
it was called) of old Madame de Mellissie, for it
was her house, and her son and daughter-in-law
lived with her. Emily was at home, surrounded
by morning callers, quite a crowd of them. She
looked intensely surprised at seeing me ; was, or I
fancied it, rather distant and haughty in manner ;
and, pointing to a chair, desired me to wait. Did
she deem I had presumptuously intruded as one
of those morning callers ? Very humbly I waited
until the last had gone : schooling myself to re-
member that I was but a poor governess, while

28S ANNE HEREFORD.

she was Madame Alfred de Mellissie, nee Miss
Chandos of Chandos.

" And so you have soon come to pay me a
visit, Miss Hereford \"

" I have come as a petitioner, rather than as
a visitor, Madame de Mellissie. Can you spare
me five minutes V

" I can spare you ten if you like, now those
loungers are gone/''

I forthwith told my tale. That I was leaving
Mrs. Paler's, where I was overworked : that I
had thought it possible she might know of some
situation open : if so, would she kindly recom-
mend me V

" The idea, Anne Hereford, of your coming to
me upon such an errand V3 was her laughing
answer. " As if I troubled myself about vacant
situations ! There is a rumour current in Paris
this morning that James Paler has been idiot
enough to go and ruin himself on the turf. That
he has lost a great deal of money is certain, for
the newspapers allude to it in a manner not to
be mistaken. Thank goodness, Alfred has no
weakness that way, though he is empty-headed

ANNE HEREFORD. 239

enough. Is it not a dreadful life, that of a
governess ?"

" At Mrs. Paler's it has been one of incessant
toil. I hope to go where the duties will be
lighter. It is not the life I like, or would have
chosen ; but I must bend to circumstances."

" That's true enough. I will ask all my friends

in Paris if they by the way/' she abruptly

broke off, speaking with slow deliberation, " I
wonder whether — if you should be found suitable
— whether you would like something else ?"

I made no reply ; only waited for her to ex-
plain herself.

"The case is this, Miss Hereford/'' she re-
sumed, assuming a light manner. a I thought of
going to Chandos on a visit ; my husband was
to have conducted me thither, but Madame de
Mellissie has been ailing, and Alfred says it
would not do for him to leave her. This morn-
ing we had a dispute over it. f There's nothing
much amiss with her/ I said : ' were she in danger,
it would be a different matter, but it's quite un-
reasonable to keep me away from Chandos for
nothing but this/ Monsieur Alfred grew vexed,

VOL. I. 19

290 ANNE HEREFORD.

said he should not quit her, and moreover did not,
himself, feel well enough to travel, — for he has a
sort of French fever hanging over him. They are
always getting it, you know. I am sick of hear-
ing one say to another, ' J^ai la fievre aujourd'-
hui !' Then I said I should go without him :
' With great pleasure/ he complacently replied,
provided I would engage a lady as companion,
but he should not trust me alone. Complimentary
to my discretion, was it not ?w

I could not deny it — in a certain sense.

" But the bargain was made ; it was indeed. I
am to look out for a companion, and then I may
be off the next hour to England, destination
Chandos. Would you like to take the place V9

A thousand thoughts flew over me at the
abrupt question, crowding my mind, dyeing my
cheeks. The prospect, at the first glance, ap-
peared like a haven of rest after Mrs. Paler's.
But — what would be my duties ? — and was 7, a
comparative child, fit for the post ? Should I
be deemed fit by Monsieur de Mellissie ?

« What should I have to do ?" I asked.

"Anything I please/'' she answered. "You

ANNE HEREFORD. 291

must amuse me when I am tired,, read to me
when I feel inclined to listen, play to me when I
wish, be ready to go out when I want you, give
orders to my maid for me, write my letters when
I am too idle to do it, and post yourself at my
side to play propriety between this and Chandos.
Those are the onerous duties of a dame de com-
pagnie, are they not ? but I have no experience
in the matter. Could you undertake them V

She spoke all this curiously, in a haughty
tone, but with a smile on her face. I did not
know how to take it. " Are you speaking seri-
ously, Madame de Mellissie?"

" Of course I am. Stay, though. About the
payment ? I could not afford to give much, for
my purse has a hole at both ends of it, and I am
dreadfully poor. I suppose you have had a high
salary at Mrs. Paler's V*

" Sixty guineas."

" Oh, don't talk of it \" she exclaimed, stop-
ping her ears. u I wish I could give it ; but I
never could squeeze out more than twenty.
Anne, I will make a bargain with you : go with
me to Chandos, stay with me during my visit

292 ANNE HEREFORD.

there ; it will not last above a week or two ; and
when we return here, I will get you a more lu-
crative situation. For the time you are with me,
I will give you what I can afford, and of course
pay your travelling expenses V3

"With the word " Anne/" she had gone back
to the old familiar manner of our school-days. I
accepted the offer willingly, subject, of course, to
the approval of Monsieur de Mellissie ; and feel-
ing very doubtful in my own mind whether it
would be carried out. As to the payment — what
she said seemed reasonable enough, and money
wore but little value in my eyes : I had not
then found out its uses. Provided I had enough
for my ordinary wants of dress, it was all I cared
for; and a large sum was due to me from Mrs.
Paler.

Somewhat to my surprise, M. de Mellissie
approved of me as his wife's companion, paying
me a compliment on the occasion. " You are
young, Mademoiselle Hereford, but I can see
you are one fully to be trusted : I confide my
wife to you/'

" I will do what I can, sir."

ANNE HEREFORD. 293

" You laugh at my saying that thing/' he said,
speaking in his sometimes rather odd English.
u You think my wife can better take care of you,
than you of her."

" I am younger than she is."

" That goes without telling, mademoiselle. You
look it. The case is this," he added, in a confi-
dential tone. " It is not that my wife wants
protection on her journey ; she has her femme de
chambre ; but because I do not think they would
like to see her arrive alone at Chandos. My
lady is difficile."

The permission to depart accorded, Madame
de Mellissie was all impatience to set off. I
bought a dress or two, but she would not allow
me time to get them made, and I had to take
them unmade. Though I was going to Chandos
as a humble companion, I could not forget that
my birth would have entitled me to go as a
visitor, and wished to dress accordingly.

The foolish girl that I was ! 1 spent my
money down to one Napoleon and some silver;
it was not very much I had by me ; and
then Mrs. Paler, to my intense consternation,

294 ANNE HEREFORD.

told me it was not convenient to pay me my
salary.

She owed me thirty guineas. I had received
the first thirty at the termination of the half-
year : it was all spent, including what I had laid
out now. I appealed to Mrs. Palei^s good feel-
ing, showing my needy state. In return she
appealed to mine.

" My dear Miss Hereford, I have not got it.
Until remittances shall reach me from Mr. Paler,
I am very short. You do not require money for
your journey, Madame Alfred de Mellissie pays
all that, and I will remit it to you ere you have
been many days at Chandos. You will not, I
am sure, object so far to oblige a poor dis-
tressed woman."

What answer could I give ?

On a lovely September morning we started for
Boulogne-sur-Mer, Madame Alfred de Mellissie,
I, and her maid Pauline. M. de Mellissie saw
us off at the station.

" I would have run down to Boulogne to put
you on board the boat, but that I do not feel
well enough ; my fever is very bad to-day," he

ANNE HEREFORD. 295

said to me and his wife. She took no notice of
the words, but I saw they were true : his pale
thin face had a hectic red upon it, his hand,
meeting mine in the adieu, burnt me through
my glove.

" Madame de Mellissie, your husband certainly
has an attack of fever/' I said, as the train
started.

" Ah, yes, no doubt ; the French, as I previ-
ously observed, are subject to it. But it never
comes to anything/'

END OF VOL. I.

tOKDOW :

SAVILl, BDWABDS ATTJ CO., PRINTEBS, CHAHDOS STBEET,

COVE1TT GABDEIT.